UC-NRLF 


BY  WILBUR    S.    TOPPER 


Qj'M'  0*  &A 


UNIVERSITY  FARM 


SIX    SHORT    PLAYS 


SIX     SHORT     PLAYS 


MR.  ERASER'S  FRIENDS          : :          IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN 

ONESIMUS     : :    THE  BARGAIN     : :    FIGS  AND  THISTLES 

THE  WISE  MAN  OF  NINEVEH 


BY 
WILBUR    S.    TUPPER 


BOSTON 

THE  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 
1922 


Copyright,  1922,  by 
THE  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved,  including  rights  of  production  and  adaptation. 
The  dramatic  rights  are  controlled  by  the  author.    Application 
for  the  right  of  stage  production,  whether  amateur  or  pro 
fessional,  should  be  made  to  the  author,  or  to  the  pub 
lisher,  who,  for  this  purpose,  is  the  author's  agent. 


The     Four     Seas     Press 
Boston,   Mass.,  U.   S.  A. 


AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 

To 
ANNABEL  F.  TUPPER 


FOREWORD 

I  HAVE  read  somewhere  that  there  are  but  seven  original 
stories  in  the  world,  and  that  all  others  are  derived, 
directly  or  indirectly,  from  these  seven.  It  has  always 
been  a  matter  of  interest  to  me  to  know  the  origin  of  a 
drama,  or  how  the  idea  prompting  it  arose.  I  am,  there 
fore,  addressing  this  foreword  specially  to  such  readers 
as  share  my  interest  in  the  matter  of  beginnings. 

The  germ  of  In  Toscana  Tavern  is  found  in  an  Italian 
story  of  the  eighteenth  century,  in  which  a  typical  Italian 
desperado  and  his  son  are  involved.  There  are  various 
versions  of  this  old  story  in  several  tongues. 

The  ancient  wisdom  literature  of  the  Hebrews  tells  of 
Ahikar,  the  Wise,  cup-bearer  and  counselor  to  the  King, 
and  of  his  betrayal  by  his  nephew.  Variants  of  this 
simple  story  are  found  in  Egyptian,  Armenian,  and  other 
Oriental  tongues.  These  manuscripts  date  anywhere 
from  500  to  1000  B.  C,  and  may  be  much  older.  The 
references  to  Achiacharus,  in  the  apocryphal  book  of 
Tobit  (1-22;  14-10),  undoubtedly  refer  to  the  Ahikar  of 
our  story.  I  have  developed  The  Wise  Man  of  Nineveh 
on  the  basis  of  these  legends. 

The  Bargain  recounts  actual  happenings.  The  events 
recorded  in  the  play  were  personally  known  to  the  author. 
Some  of  the  characters  and  many  of  the  incidents  have 
been  transferred,  without  change,  from  life  to  paper. 
This  is,  therefore,  a  "realistic"  play,  in  the  true  meaning 
of  the  word. 

The  theme  of  Onesimus  should  be  known  to  all.  As 
to  the  other  plays  in  this  volume,  I  know  of  nothing 
tending  to  connect  them  with  the  original  seven  stories 
of  the  world. 

WILBUR  S.  TUPPER  • 
San  Leandro,  California 
September,  1921 


CONTENTS 

Page 

MR.  ERASER'S  FRIENDS n 

IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN      .....     ....  29 

ONESIMUS       .     .     .     .  v^    . 45 

THE    BARGAIN     .     .     .     .     ; 59 

FIGS  AND  THISTLES  .     . 77 

THE  WISE  MAN  OF  NINEVEH 95 


MR.   ERASER'S   FRIENDS 

A  SATIRE 


CHARACTERS 

•  GEORGE  FRASER,  an  author. 
"  ROBERT  FRASER,  his  younger  brother. 
1    MR.  GROSBECK,  a  banker. 

MR.  BAN  ION,  a  lawyer. 
1   DR.  MILBURN,  a  physician. 

MRS.  WEBSTER,  a  lodging  house  keeper. 

SCENE:  Mr.  Fraser's  apartment,  early  afternoon. 


MR.   ERASER'S   FRIENDS 

A    SATIRE 


A  room,  simply  furnished.  A  large  table  in  the  center, 
covered  with  books,  magazines,  and  writing  material. 
There  are  a  couple  of  easy  chairs  and  several  straight 
chairs.  Fire-place  in  back  and  near  it,  a  lounge. 
Pictures  of  famous  authors  on  the  walls.  There  is 
a  door,  right,  leading  to  main  hall  of  the  house,  and 
a  door,  left,  leading  to  another  room  of  the  apart 
ment.  As  curtain  rises,  GEORGE  FRASER  is  walking 
about  the  room,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
ROBERT  FRASER  is  sitting  at  the  table,  right. 

GEORGE.  [Stopping  to  address  his  brother.]  It's  like 
this,  Bob.  That  novel  took  a  long  time.  I  could  have 
turned  out  a  dozen  short  stories,  since  I  began  "The 
Rising  Tide."  Thank  heaven !  It's  done  at  last. 

ROBERT.     Got  it  accepted  yet? 

GEORGE,  No,  but  I've  sent  it  in,  and  its  fate  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  publishers.  They've  had  it  a  month,  and 
not  a  word  from  them.  Oh,  this  waiting!  Now  the 
point  is — no  money  coming  in — nothing  at  all,  except 
from  book  reviews  in  the  Sunday  Tribune.  Meanwhile 
bills  accumulate,  and  the  rent  is  unpaid.  Dear  me,  dear 
me!  H  :  U';! 

ROBERT.     Too  bad  you  lost  so  much  time. 

GEORGE.  [Earnestly.]  I  didn't  lose  any  time.  I 
don't  regret  the  work  on  it.  It's  worth  while,  if  I  do 

13 


i4  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

say  it.  It  will  be  accepted  too,  and  sweep  the  country. 
[Seats  himself  at  the  table.] 

ROBERT.  I  hope  so.  [Pause.]  Look  here,  George. 
I  can  help  you  out  a  bit. 

GEORGE.  No,  Bob.  Remember  you  have  a  wife  to 
provide  for. 

ROBERT.  Well,  have  you  got  a  more  loyal  friend  thafi 
Betty? 

GEORGE.  I  know.  Thank  you  for  the  offer,  but  I 
can't  consider  it. 

ROBERT.  Why  wouldn't  Uncle  Mark  help  ?  He  always 
liked  you. 

GEORGE.  I  thought  of  Jthat.  But  he's  peculiar.  If  I 
could  explain  personally-^but  I  can't  go  to  New  York. 
No  I  must  find  a  job  for  part  time.  But  I'll  need  to  be 
in  better  trim,  before  I  do  much  anywhere. 

ROBERT.  How's  the  cold  getting  on?  What  did  the 
doctor  say? 

GEORGE.     He  didn't  come  at  all. 

ROBERT.  Didn't  come!  Shall  I  leave  word  again? 
I  must  go  now,  anyway.  [Rising.  ] 

GEORGE.  No.  I'm  better  today.  But  you  may  take 
this  down  to  the  Tribune  office.  [Handing  him  manu 
script.  ]  It  must  be  in  today.  Ask  if  there  are  any  books 
on  hand  for  review,  and  bring  them  to  me,  at  your  con 
venience.  You  don't  mind? 

ROBERT.     Glad  to  do  it,  of  course. 

GEORGE.  Then  I'll  let  you  do  one  other  thing.  As  you 
pass  by  the  Empire  Club,  see  if  Banion  is  there.  You 
know  Banion,  the  lawyer?  [ROBERT  nods  assent.]  Tell 
him  to  stop  a  minute  here,  on  his  way  to  the  office.  Say 
if  convenient,  of  course.  [ROBERT  goes  out  right,  and 
MRS.  WEBSTER  comes  in  at  same  door.  She  is  a  plain, 
large  woman,  typical  of  her  class.  She  has  letters  and 
papers  in  her  hand.] 

MRS.  WEBSTER.     Here's  the  mail,  Mr.  Fraser. 


MR.  ERASER'S  FRIENDS  15 

GEORGE.  Thanks !  [He  rises  and  takes  mail.  Looks 
eagerly  at  return  address  on  each  letter  and  throws  them 
down,  one  after  another,  on  the  table.  He  notes  that  she 
is  not  inclined  to  go.]  Thank  you  very  much,  for  bring 
ing  the  mail,  Mrs.  Webster.  [He  seats  himself  right  of 
table,  with  his  back  toward  her,  and  begins  opening  the 
letters.  MRS.  WEBSTER  does  not  take  the  hint.} 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Eraser,  but  I  must 
speak  about  the  rent  that's  past  due. 

GEORGE.  [Turning  in  his  chair.]  What?  Oh,  yes,  I 
am  behind  a  week  or  two,  temporarily. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [Impressively.]  Three  weeks,  next 
Monday,  Mr.  Eraser. 

GEORGE.  Is  that  so?  Well,  I'll  make  a  payment 
before  Monday. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.     That's  what  you  said  last  week. 

GEORGE.  Did  I?  Oh,  yes!  I  remember.  I  was  ex 
pecting  some  money,  but  it  didn't  come.  But  it  will  be 
all  right,  next  Monday,  never  fear.  [He  turns  again  to 
table.  MRS.  WEBSTER  stands  her  ground.] 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  I  want  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Eraser,  what 
you  think  about  changing  to  the  little  room  upstairs. 

GEORGE.  [  Turning  again. }  Little  room  upstairs ! 
I'm  comfortable  here.  This  is  all  right.  Why  change? 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  It's  cheaper,  and  if  you  find  the  rent 
here  too  high — 

GEORGE.  My  dear  Mrs.  Webster,  if  going  upstairs 
would  get  me  out  of  the  financial  fog,  I'd  be  willing  to 
sleep  on  the  roof.  But  I  fail  to  see  how  the  plan  would 
help  either  of  us. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  I'd  rent  this  room  to  someone  else, 
then.  I've  applicants  waiting. 

GEORGE.  Oh,  that's  it.  Um!  [Ominously.]  Look 
here,  Mrs.  Webster,  don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  take  in  new 
lodgers.  You  might  get  a  desperate  criminal, — a  burglar, 
who  would  clean  out  the  place  some  night. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  I  never  took  in  a  bad  character  in 
all  the  twenty-two  years  I've  kept  lodgers. 


16  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

GEORGE.  [In  a  tone  of  surprise.]  Not  one  in  twenty- 
two  years !  Then  it's  high  time  you  had  one.  You  know 
there  are  such  people.  They  must  have  rooms  some 
where.  [  Confidently.  ]  You  will  get  one,  any  time,  now. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [Softening.]  Well,  can  I  depend  on 
that  payment  by  Monday? 

GEORGE.  [Emphatically.]  You  certainly  can,  Mrs. 
Webtser.  Before  then,  I  hope.  [MRS.  WEBSTER  goes 
out  right.]  Whew!  That's  settled  for  the  time  being, 
but  it  will  take  a  diplomat  to  meet  the  issue  Monday. 
[Picking  up  letters.]  Bills,  bills,  and  more  bills !  If  they 
accept  "The  Rising  Tide,"  I'm  all  right.  But  I'll  be 
swamped  by  the  rising  tide  of  debts,  unless  something 
happens  soon.  [Knock  at  door  right.]  Come  in!  [MR. 
GROSBECK  enters.  He  is  a  portly,  well-dressed  business 
man  of  fifty-five,  slightly  gray.  GEORGE  rises  to  greet 
him.]  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Grosbeck.  Take  a  chair, 
please.  [Both  sit,  GROSBECK  at  right  of  table,  GEORGE 
left] 

GROSBECK.  I  just  dropped  in  for  a  minute.  I've  been 
thinking  over  the  matter  you  spoke  to  me  about  the  other 
day. 

GEORGE.     [Interested.]     That's  very  kind  of  you. 

GROSBECK.  I've  been  turning  it  over  in  my  mind,  and 
I  think  I  have  found  something  that  will  just  suit  you. 

GEORGE.  I  must  say  it's  generous  of  you,  with  all  your 
business  cares,  to  take  time  to  help  me.  I  certainly 
appreciate  it. 

GROSBECK.  [Magnanimously.]  Oh,  I'm  willing  to 
help  any  deserving  chap,  glad  to  go  out  of  my  way  to  do 
it.  Ever  hear  of  the  Golden  Garden  mining  properties? 

GEORGE.     No. 

GROSBECK.  Well,  myself  and  four  associates  own 
practically  all  the  stock.  It  is  in  one  of  the  richest  sec 
tions  of  the  Rainbow  district.  We  are  putting  ten 
millions  of  the  stock  on  the  market — dollar  shares,  you 
know.  It's  a  big  thing,  Fraser. 

GEORGE.     But  how  does  that  open  a  door  for  me? 


MR.  ERASER'S  FRIENDS  17 

GROSBECK.  Just  a  minute.  We've  got  agents  out  by 
the  dozens,  selling  to  farmers,  mechanics,  and  the  labor 
ing  classes.  Now  we  want  a  high-grade  man  to  place  the 
stock  with  the  better  classes — business  and  professional 
men,  right  here  in  the  city. 

GEORGE.     I'm  afraid  I'm  not  adapted — 

GROSBECK.  Oh,  yes,  you  are.  Wait  till  you  meet  our 
manager,  and  hear  the  selling  talk.  You  will  have  our 
engineer's  report,  and  it's  a  clincher.  Then  there's  the 
report  of  other  experts.  You  will  find  it  all  in  the 
prospectus.  [Hands  GEORGE  a  folder.] 

GEORGE.  [Looking  at  the  prospectus.]  I  don't  see 
your  name  here. 

GROSBECK.  Oh,  my  name  doesn't  appear.  I  have  a 
man  who  acts  for  me  as  director  and  treasurer. 

GEORGE.    Acts  for  you? 

GROSBECK.  Yes,  votes  as  I  tell  him.  You  know  a 
banker  has  to  be  conservative.  People  look  to  him  for 
advice  in  financial  affairs.  So  to  be  unprejudiced,  we 
don't  act  as  managers  or  directors  of  other  concerns. 
But  merely  owning  stock — that  doesn't  matter. 

GEORGE.     [Vaguely.}     I  see — 

GROSBECK.  Aside  from  other  things,  there's  an  advan 
tage  in  my  name  not  appearing.  You  might  refer  a  pros 
pective  buyer  to  me,  and  I  could  remark,  casually,  that 
I  owned  stock,  and  say  what  I  thought  about  it.  See? 
It's  a  money  maker,  Eraser,  and  you  need  the  money. 

GEORGE.  I  need  the  money,  sure  enough.  I  don't 
mind  telling  you — I  want  to  ask — 

GROSBECK.     What  is  it?     Go  ahead! 

GEORGE.  I've  just  finished  a  big  work,  a  four-hundred 
page  novel.  It  took  most  of  my  time  for  months,  and — 
well,  it's  left  me  hard  up,  for  the  time  being.  Do  you 
think  I  could  get  a  little  loan — say  a  hundred  dollars — at 
your  bank  to  tide  me  over?  For  security — 

GROSBECK.  Don't  ask,  just  now,  Fraser.  You  are  not 
a  depositor  with  us,  and  we  have  to  hew  to  the  line,  don't 


i8  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

you  see.  [Suggestively.]  What  about  Marcus  Fraser, 
your  rich  old  uncle?  Ever  hear  from  him? 

GEORGE.  [Taking  the  hint.]  I  couldn't  take  this 
matter  up  with  my  uncle,  under  the  circumstances. 

GROSBECK.  He's  a  plunger,  all  right,  and  always  bets 
on  the  winning  side.  But  you  take  this  offer,  Fraser, 
and  you  won't  need  to  ask  anyone  for  money.  [GEORGE 
makes  a  gesture  of  dissent.]  Now  don't  decide  till  you 
know  the  terms.  Suppose  we  make  you  a  guaranty  of 
twenty-five  dollars  a  week  ?  Ready  money,  you  see.  I'm 
going  to  the  company's  office  now.  [GROSBECK  rises. 
GEORGE  rises,  too.]  I'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour,  with 
an  offer  in  black  and  white.  Goodbye.  [He  goes  out 
right] 

GEORGE.  Goodbye.  [He  walks  about  the  room.] 
Twenty-five  dollars  a  week !  That  would  be  a  life  saver 
right  now.  But  I  can't.  I  simply  can't.  Well,  I  must 
pull  myself  together,  and  settle  down  to  pot  boiler  work 
again.  [Arranges  his  writing  material,  and  begins  to 
write.  Stops  and  changes  the  pen.  Then  throws  it 
down,  rises  and  walks  about  room.  Knock  at  door  right.  ] 
Now  who's  that?  Come  in!  [Enter  BANION,  a  typical 
young  professional  man,  well-dressed  and  prosperous 
looking.  ] 

BANION.  Hello,  Fraser!  Your  brother  said  you 
wanted  to  see  me. 

GEORGE.  Yes,  sit  down.  [BANION  sits  down  right  of 
table,  GEORGE  left.]  I  won't  keep  you  long.  To  get  right 
to  the  point,  I  want  to  push  that  claim  against  the 
Stoddard  Company.  There's  $400  still  due  me,  you  know. 

BANION.  I  see,  I  see.  Want  to  start  suit  against 
them,  eh? 

GEORGE.  Yes,  anything  to  get  the  money.  You  know 
the  facts.  We  can  win,  can't  we? 

BANION.  Let  me  see.  As  a  legal  proposition,  it's  very 
simple.  [With  impressive  ostentation.]  Their  action 
was  clearly  ultra  vires.  Now  that  raises  the  question  of 
estoppel.  As  to  the  condition  of  the  property,  your  state- 


MR.  ERASER'S   FRIENDS  19 

ments  were  clearly  representations,  and  not  warranties. 
The  doctrine  of  caveat  emptor  holds  them  there.  That's 
plain,  isn't  it? 

GEORGE.  [Hopefully.]  Then  you  think  we  can  make 
'em  pay  up? 

BANION.  Hold  on!  I  didn't  say  that.  I  was  speak 
ing  solely  of  the  legal  aspect  of  the  case. 

GEORGE.     [Subdued.]     Oh! 

BANION.  Now  as  to  the  facts.  You  must  substantiate 
your  allegations  by  qualified  witnesses,  and  by  evidence 
that  is  competent,  relevant,  and  material.  If  you  can't 
do  this,  you  lose  your  case.  If  you  prove  your  case — 
well,  then,  you  never  know  what  a  jury  will  do. 

GEORGE.  We've  got  a  chance,  anyway.  When  could 
I  get  the  money,  if  we  win? 

BANION.  [Calculating.]  If  we  start  now,  we  can  get 
on  the  fall  calendar,  and  try  the  case  some  time  next 
winter,  by  spring,  at  least.  Let's  see.  After  verdict, 
motion  for  new  trial.  Motion  denied,  and  appeal  to 
Appellate  Court.  That  will  be  a  year  more.  Appellate 
Court  is  two  years  behind  with  its  work.  Judgment 
affirmed  there,  and  appeal  to  the  Supreme  Court. 
Supreme  Court  is  three  years  behind  with  its  calendar. 
Oh,  say  eight  or  nine  years. 

GEORGE.     So  long! 

BANION.  That  is,  providing  everything  goes  well,  and 
there  are  no  dilatory  tactics.  A  reversal  in  the  upper 
court  would  mean  three  to  five  years  more. 

GEORGE.  [Grimly.]  Something  like  the  Thirty  Years' 
War,  or  the  Crusades.  Well,  let's  sue  'em.  I'm  a  young 
man  yet,  and  they  may  settle. 

BANION.  It's  up  to  you.  But  you  understand  it  will 
cost  something  to  start  proceedings. 

GEORGE.     How  much? 

BANION.  Disbursements  will  be  thirty  dollars  or  more. 
And  there's  the  retainer.  Oh,  say  one  hundred  fifty 
dollars,  in  all. 

GEORGE.     [In  dismay.]     That  much!     In  advance? 


20  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

BANION.  Well,  we  must  steer  clear  of  champerty  and 
maintenance.  And  it  wouldn't  be  professional  ethics  to 
waive  the  retainer  fee. 

GEORGE.  [Dejectedly.]  I'll  have  to  let  the  matter 
drop,  then. 

BANION.  [Rising.]  Sorry!  I'd  like  to  help  you, 
Fraser.  Well,  I  must  be  off.  I've  an  important  en 
gagement,  right  on  now.  [Knock  at  door  right.] 

GEORGE.  Come!  [DR.  MILBURN  hurries  in.  He  is  a 
professional  man  of  about  the  same  age  and  general  type 
as  BANION.  He  carries  a  medicine  case  in  his  hand.] 
Glad  to  see  you,  Doctor. 

DOCTOR.  Ah,  Fraser!  Beg  pardon  for  being  late. 
Couldn't  make  it  yesterday.  Awfully  busy!  [To 
BANION.]  Don't  go  for  a  minute,  Banion,  and  I'll  go 
with  you.  [BANION  seats  himself  on  lounge,  and  during 
conversation  between  GEORGE  and  the  DOCTOR,  busies 
himself  with  a  magazine.  Meanwhile  the  DOCTOR  has 
seated  himself  by  GEORGE,  and  is  feeling  his  pulse.] 
Hold  out  your  tongue  !  [GEORGE  complies.  The  DOCTOR, 
with  an  important  air,  takes  out  a  thermometer.]  We'll 
try  this,  too.  It's  a  ten-second  one — only  kind  possible 
with  the  women.  [Pause.]  Well,  hm!  Well,  you 
evidently  have  a  mild  hepatic  derangement,  hepato- 
enteric,  or  hepato-gastric,  complicated  with  neurasthenia. 

GEORGE.     What's  that,  Doctor? 

DOCTOR.  [Inspecting  the  thermometer.]  Slight 
pyrexia,  due  to  temporary  coryza. 

GEORGE.  Have  I  got  that,  too?  Well,  fix  me  up.  I 
must  keep  at  work. 

DOCTOR.  Hm !  [Pause.  ]  Who  is  your  family  doc 
tor,  Fraser? 

GEORGE.  I  don't  know.  Haven't  had  a  doctor  since 
the  auto  smash-up. 

DOCTOR.     Who  took  care  of  you  then? 

GEORGE.  They  called  Doctor  Baker.  He  was  the 
nearest. 

DOCTOR.     Then  he's  your  family  physician. 


MR.   ERASER'S   FRIENDS  21 

GEORGE.     But  that  was  two  years  ago. 

DOCTOR.  That  doesn't  matter.  You  haven't  called 
anyone  since.  [Emphatically.]  Professionally  consid 
ered,  he's  your  family  physician.  Now  I  mustn't  do 
anything  that  looks  like  getting  Dr.  Baker's  patients  away 
from  him. 

GEORGE.     But  Doctor — 

DOCTOR.  You  see  if  I  didn't  know  he  was  your  physi 
cian,  it  would  be  different.  But  I  do  know  it.  Oh,  no,  it 
wouldn't  be  professional  courtesy. 

GEORGE.     I  was  about  to  say — 

DOCTOR.  I'd  like  to  take  your  case,  Eraser,  and  the 
fact  that  I'm  rushed  to  death  wouldn't  stand  in  the  way, 
not  a  bit.  But  I  mustn't  lower  our  ethical  standards. 

GEORGE.     Of  course,  Doctor.     You  know. 

DOCTOR.  Say,  how  about  Culver,  the  new  man  at  the 
County  Hospital?  See  him.  He's  all  right,  they  say. 
But  don't  tell  him  I  sent  you.  [Emphatically.]  Really, 
you  don't  need  anyone.  Keep  your  fingers  out  of  the  ink 
pot,  and  stick  your  nose  out  of  doors,  occasionally,  and 
you  will  be  all  right.  [He  rises.  BANION  rises  also. 
Enter  GROSBECK  and  ROBERT,  right.  The  latter  has  a 
book  under  his  arm,  which  he  puts  on  the  table.  GEORGE 
rises  as  they  enter.] 

GROSBECK.  Hello,  boys!  What's  up?  Private  con 
ference? 

BANION.     Oh,  it's  nothing.     We're  going  now. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [Entering  with  telegram.]  A  telegram 
for  you,  Mr.  Eraser.  [MRS.  WEBSTER  goes  out,  right.] 

GEORGE.  Oh !  The  publishing  company  at  last ! 
\Opensandreadsmessage.]  What!  What's  this?  My 
Uncle  Mark!  Uncle  Mark  dead!  [All  start.] 

THE  OTHERS.     What?     No! 

GEORGE.  Listen.  [Reads.]  "Marcus  Eraser  found 
dead  in  his  office.  You  are  sole  heir  under  will.  Advise 
you  come  to  New  York.  Wire  answer.  Haldane  and 
Anderson,  Attorneys." 

[General  excitement.     All  crowd  around  GEORGE, 


22  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

beaming  with  enthusiasm,  and  shake  his  hand, 
as  they  voice  their  congratulations.] 

GROSBECK.    Good,  good !    A  thousand  congratulations ! 

BANION.     Mine,  too.     Heartfelt  good  wishes.     Shake ! 

DOCTOR.     Well,  well!     I'm  so  glad.     Put  it  there! 

ROBERT.     George,  you  know  how  I  feel. 

GEORGE.  Thank  you  all.  I  don't  know  what  to  say. 
I  can't  realize  it.  [He  drops  into  a  chair  bewildered  by 
the  news.  GROSBECK,  BANION,  and  the  DOCTOR  shake 
hands  with  him  again,  and  pat  him  on  the  back.  MRS. 
WEBSTER'S  face  can  be  seen  occasionally,  at  the  door.] 

DOCTOR.     What's  the  estate  worth? 

GROSBECK.  More  than  a  million!  He  was  rated  at  a 
million  some  time  ago. 

BANION.  Well,  George,  how  does  it  seem  to  be  a 
millionaire  ? 

DOCTOR.  More  than  a  million !  Think  of  it !  Let  us 
all  go  over  to  the  Empire  Club,  where  we  can  celebrate 
properly,  and  drink  our  friend's  good  health. 

GEORGE.  No,  thank  you.  I'd  rather  not  go  anywhere 
today.  I'm  a  bit  flustered. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [Entering.]  Oh,  Mr.  Fraser,  let  me 
serve  something  here  in  your  room.  There's  cake  and 
coffee  that  I  just  got  ready  for  the  Ladies'  Aid  Bazaar, 
this  afternoon.  It  won't  take  a  minute. 

GEORGE.  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Webster.  You  are  very 
kind,  but  we  mustn't  appropriate  the  ladies'  refreshments. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [Pleading.]  Oh,  let  me!  You  have 
been  with  me  so  long,  and  I  always  wanted  to  do  some 
thing  for  you.  Please  let  me  do  this! 

GEORGE.  All  right,  then.  [Rising.]  We  will  accept 
your  hospitality,  Mrs.  Webster,  and  thank  you  very  much. 
Bob,  will  you  clear  the  table,  please?  [ROBERT  begins  to 
gather  up  books,  etc.,  from  the  table,  putting  them  through 
door  left.] 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [To  GEORGE,  front  center,  in  doleful 
voice.]  I  know,  Mr.  Fraser,  you  won't  be  staying  long 
in  my  poor  house.  I'm  so  sorry  to  lose  you.  [Almost 


MR.  ERASER'S   FRIENDS  23 

tearfully.]  I  don't  know  how  I  will  find  a  lodger  to' take 
your  place. 

GEORGE.  Don't  worry,  Mrs.  Webster.  I'll  see  that  the 
rent  is  paid  on  this  room,  until  you  do  get  a  new  lodger. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [Brightening.]  Thank  you,  sir,  but 
I'll  never  get  another  like  you.  [She  quickly  puts  cloth 
on  table,  and  brings  in  coffee  and  cake.] 

GEORGE.  Well,  gentlemen,  we'll  celebrate  here — that 
is,  if  you  have  the  time. 

DOCTOR.     [Emphatically.]     We'll  take  the  time. 

BANION>     [Similarly.]     Business  can  wait. 

GEORGE.  Compared  with  the  Empire  Club,  it  will  be 
a  modest  spread. 

DOCTOR.  [  Unctuously.  ]  It's  not  the  refreshment. 
It's  the  fellowship. 

GEORGE.  Come  on.  Be  seated,  please.  [They  all  sit 
at  table.  GEORGE  is  on  side  facing  the  audience.  GROS- 
BECK  and  ROBERT  are  on  his  right,  GROSBECK  nearest  to 
GEORGE.  BANION  and  the  DOCTOR  are  on  the  left.  MRS. 
WEBSTER  serves  them,  beginning  with  GEORGE.] 

BANION.  You  struck  the  right  chord,  Doctor,  when 
you  said  fellowship. 

GROSBECK.  [Rising  and  clearing  his  throat.]  Gentle 
men,  I'm  no  speech  maker,  but  I  want  to  say  a  word 
about  our  friend  and  his  good  fortune.  I  have  known 
George  longer  than  any  of  you.  He  was  in  my  Sunday 
School  class,  and  I  have  seen  him  grow  up,  and  watched 
him  apply  in  professional  and  private  life  those  lessons 
we  learned  together  from  the  Good  Book.  I  want  to 
propose  a  toast  to  friendship — it's  a  line  from  Shake 
speare,  "He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me." 
[All  but  GEORGE  stand  and  drink.] 

ALL  BUT  GEORGE.     Hear,  hear!     [All  sit  but  BANION.] 

BANION.  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  be  one  of 
the  first  to  congratulate  George.  He  and  I  grew  up 
together.  What  I  have  most  admired  about  George  is 
his  loyalty  to  his  friends,  through  thick  and  thin.  I 
know  that  George,  as  a  millionaire,  will  not  forget  the 


24  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

friends  of  his  more  modest  days.  This  thought  suggests 
the  words  of  Confucius :  "Faithfulness  and  sincerity  are 
the  highest  things."  [All  but  GEORGE  stand  and  drink.] 

ALL  BUT  GEORGE.  Hear,  hear!  [All  sit  down  but 
DOCTOR.] 

DOCTOR.  I  want  to  add  a  tribute  to  our  friend  that 
you  gentlemen  have  not  expressed.  George  Fraser,  as 
novelist  and  literary  critic,  has  attained  distinction  in  the 
world  of  letters,  and  has  brought  fame  to  our  city.  I 
have  prided  myself  on  his  friendship,  since  I  came  to 
this  place  ten  years  ago.  I  am  slow  to  make  friends, 
and  slower  to  change  them.  So  I  am  prompted  to  give 
you  this  quotation  as  my  toast  to  friendship:  "An  old 
friend  can  never  be  found,  and  nature  has  provided  that 
he  cannot  easily  be  lost."  [All  but  GEORGE  stand  and 
drink.  ] 

ALL  BUT  GEORGE.     Hear,  hear!     [All  sit  down.] 

BANION.  Now  we  want  to  hear  from  George. 
[GEORGE  hesitates.] 

GROSBECK.  Come  on,  George !  Tell  us  what's  in  your 
heart. 

GEORGE.  [Rising.]  I  couldn't  do  that,  Mr.  Grosbeck. 
But  I  don't  want  you,  gentlemen,  to  think  me  unapprecia- 
tive.  [  Cries  of  "No !  no !"  ]  I  simply  cannot  express  my 
feelings.  It  is  all  so  sudden,  so  strange,  that  it  confuses 
me  a  bit.  A  poor  man  at  one  o'clock,  and  a  millionaire 
at  two!  [Cries  of  "Hear!  hear!"]  It  seems  like  a 
dream,  and  that  I  might  wake  up  with  a  start.  [Cries 
of  "No!  no!"]  I  don't  realize  the  situation  yet.  It  will 
take  time  to  get  my  bearings.  Thank  you  very  much. 
[He  sits  down.  Cries  of  "Good!"  "Hear,  hear!"  and 
"Thafs  the  talk"  from  GROSBECK,  BANION,  and  DOCTOR. ] 

GROSBECK.     Fine,  fine,  George.     I  am  proud  of  you. 

GEORGE.  [Starting  up.]  The  telegram!  I'm  forget 
ting  the  telegram.  It  called  for  an  answer.  I'll  wire  that 
I'll  go  on  to  New  York.  [Starting  toward  door.] 
Excuse  me,  please.  I'll  be  back  in  two  minutes.  Do  the 
honors,  Bob,  in  my  absence.  [He  goes  out  right.] 


MR.  ERASER'S  FRIENDS  25 

•« 

BANION.  Pretty  soft  for  you,  Robert,  with  a  million 
aire  brother,  and  he  a  bachelor,  too.  You  should  worry. 

ROBERT.  Oh,  I've  always  made  my  own  way,  and  I 
can  do  so  in  the  future. 

GROSBECK.  How  would  you  like  to  try  banking, 
Robert,  if  we  can  find  a  berth  for  you. 

ROBERT.  Never  had  experience  along  that  line.  I 
might  look  into  it.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Grosbeck. 

DOCTOR.  I'm  going  to  propose  George  for  the  Empire 
Club. 

BANION.  Better  let  me  do  it.  I've  known  him  much 
longer,  and  you  are  new  in  the  Club. 

DOCTOR.  [Angrily.]  Don't  crab  my  idea!  Do  you 
want  to  monopolize  him? 

GROSBECK.  See  here,  boys!  Don't  quarrel  over  the 
matter.  There's  nothing  to  prevent  all  of  our  names 
going  on  his  application. 

BANION.  I  suppose  he  ought  to  join  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce,  too.  What  do  you  think? 

DOCTOR.  [Disparagingly.]  Oh,  it  will  do  for  anyone 
who  can't  get  into  the  Empire.  Not  at  all  select.  Small 
tradesmen — Tom,  Dick,  and  Hany — every  barber,  tailor, 
and  piano  mover  that  can  raise  twenty  dollars  a  year. 
All  right,  if  you  want  to  run  for  office.  [Pause.] 

ROBERT.  Wasn't  it  strange  that  Uncle  Mark  should 
be  found  dead  in  his  office? 

DOCTOR.  Not  at  all.  Some  heart  trouble,  or  apoplexy 
— the  nervous  strain  of  big  business,  you  know.  [Enter 
GEORGE  and  takes  his  place  at  table.] 

GEORGE.  Well,  the  answer  is  on  its  way.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  visit  New  York.  I  can  see  the  publishers,  too, 
about  my  book. 

DOCTOR.  You  can  leave  that  work  now  to  the  fellows 
that  have  to  do  it. 

GEORGE.  I  don't  feel  that  way  about  my  new  book. 
[Earnestly.]  But  I  am  glad  I  don't  have  to  be  a  literary 
hack.  [To  BANION.]  How  long  should  it  be,  before  I 
get  returns  from  the  estate? 


26  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

BANION.  Not  long — only  one  heir.  By  the  way, 
George,  I  will  look  after  the  legal  matters  for  you.  Not 
a  word,  now.  You  must  let  me  do  it — as  your  friend, 
you  know.  I  want  to  be  of  help  in  your  getting  that 
fortune. 

GEORGE.     Oh,  thank  you. 

GROSBECK.  Meanwhile,  if  you  need  funds,  just  drop 
your  I.  O.  U.  in  our  bank  for  a  couple  of  thousand,  or 
as  much  as  you  need. 

GEORGE.     Thank  you  very  much. 

DOCTOR.  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  your  going  to  New 
York  alone,  in  your  present  subnormal  condition.  I  am 
going  to  plan  to  make  the  trip  with  you,  and  look  after 
you  on  the  way.  I  am  acquainted  there,  and  could  stay 
a  few  days  to  see  that  you  meet  the  right  people. 

GEORGE.     You  are  very  kind. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [Entering.]  Here's  another  tele 
gram,  Mr.  Fraser. 

GEORGE.  Thank  you.  Now  who  is  this  one  from? 
[She  hands  him  the  message  and  goes  out,  holding  the 
door  ajar.  GEORGE  opens  the  telegram.  A  look  of^  blank 
amazement  comes  to  his  face.  He  drops  his  head  'on  his 
hands,  his  elbows  on  the  table.] 

GROSBECK.     No  bad  news,  I  hope. 

GEORGE.     [Handing  him  message.]     Read  it! 

GROSBECK.  [Reading  aloud.]  "Your  uncle  committed 
suicide.  Estate  insolvent.  May  we  draw  on  you  for 
funeral  expenses.  Haldane  and  Anderson."  [Long 
pause.  GEORGE  continues  with  his  head  in  his  hands. 
ROBERT  tries  to  look  brave.  GROSBECK,  BANION,  and  the 
DOCTOR  are  visibly  embarrassed.  The  sudden  news  does 
not  dull  MRS.  WEBSTER'S  sense  of  thrift.  She  snatches 
the  coffee-pot  and  cake  from  the  table,  and  bears  them 
haughtily  out  of  the  room.] 

ROBERT.     Uncle  Mark  a  suicide!     I  can't  believe  it. 

GROSBECK.  [In  an  unfeeling  tone.]  Old  Marcus 
evidently  bet  once  on  the  losing  side. 

DOCTOR.     My  word,  but  that  is  a  jolt ! 


MR.  ERASER'S  FRIENDS  27 

** 

GEORGE.     [Looking  up.]     A  literary  hack,  again! 

BANION.  [Looking  at  his  watch,  and  affecting  sur 
prise.  ]  Great  Caesar !  Three  o'clock !  I've  had  a  client 
waiting  for  half  an  hour. 

DOCTOR.  Three  o'clock?  You  don't  say.  My  office 
hours  start  at  three.  [Both  get  u£  and  go  quietly  back 
of  table  to  door,  right.  GEORGE,  with  head  buried  in  his 
hands,  does  not  notice  them.  They  tiptoe  out,  closing 
door  softly.] 

GROSBECK.  [Briskly.]  Well,  we  all  get  hit  sometimes. 
You  must  buck  up,  Eraser.  Be  philosophic !  [Impres 
sively.]  Remember,  you  can't  lose  what  you  never  had. 
See  here.  I've  got  that  proposition  in  shape.  [Pulls  out 
a  paper.]  Thirty  per  cent,  straight,  and  a  guaranty  of 
twenty-five  a  week.  What  do  you  say? 

GEORGE.  [Without  looking  up.]  I  don't  want  to  talk 
about  it  today. 

GROSBECK.  Don't  be  stubborn,  Eraser !  It's  got  to  be 
yes  or  no  today.  If  you  don't  want  it,  there  are  others. 

GEORGE.  [As  before.]  Give  it  to  someone  else.  I 
don't  want  it. 

GROSBECK.  All  right.  That  settles  it  for  you.  [Goes 
out  right  without  a  word.] 

ROBERT.  [Moving  into  chair  vacated  by  GROSBECK, 
and  putting  his  hand  on  his  brother's  shoulder.]  Don't 
take  it  so  hard,  George. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  [Entering.]  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to 
get  your  things  out  by  Monday,  Mr.  Eraser. 

ROBERT.  [Turning.]  Here!  I'll  take  care  of  that. 
How  much  is  it? 

GEORGE.  [With  a  gesture  of  repression.]  No,  you 
don't!  [Rising,  speaks  with  polite  irony  to  MRS. 
WEBSTER.]  I  shall  be  delighted,  Mrs.  Webster,  to  vacate 
the  apartment,  by  Monday.  Really,  I'm  hoping  to  get 
out  before. 

MRS.  WEBSTER.  And  I  want  what's  owing  me  before 
you  go.  And  there's  a  dollar  extra — coffee  and  cake  for 
five. 


28  SIX  SHORT  PLAYS 

GEORGE.  [As  before.]  Quite  right,  Mrs.  Webster, 
and  well  worth  it.  I  must  say  that  you  make  excellent 
cake.  [She  gives  him  a  look  of  mingled  wonder  and 
anger,  and  goes  out,  slamming  the  door.] 

GEORGE.  [Cheerily.]  Well,  Bob,  when  can  you  and 
Betty  be  ready  to  start  for  New  York? 

ROBERT.     New  York?     What  do  you  mean? 

GEORGE.  I  mean  that  we  are  going  to  have  the  time 
of  our  lives,  while  I  am  looking  after  the  estate. 

ROBERT.  But  the  estate  is  gone — bankrupt — the  tele 
gram! 

GEORGE.  Fiction,  Bob!  Just  a  bit  of  fiction,  to  put 
them  to  the  proof.  It  was  the  acid  test. 

ROBERT.  [Springing  to  his  feet.]  Then  you  haven't 
lost  the  fortune? 

GEORGE.  [Smiling  knowingly.]  I  haven't  lost  any 
thing,  except  my  friends.  And,  as  Grosbeck  says,  you 
can't  lose  what  you  never  had.  [CURTAIN.] 


IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN 

A    TRAGEDY 


CHARACTERS 

V 
MARTA,  proprietor  of  Toscana  Tavern 

ANTONIO,  neighbor  of  Maria. 
ELENA,  daughter  of  Antonio. 
MARIO,  the  stranger. 

The  action  takes  place  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock, 
Saturday  night,  in  the  foreign  quarter  of  New  York  City. 
TIME:  the  present. 


IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN 

A     TRAGEDY 

The  curtain  rises,  disclosing  a  room  used  both  as  office 
and  dining  room.  There  is  a  door  at  the  back,  lead 
ing  into  the  main  dining  room,  a  door,  right,  leading 
to  street,  and  a  door,  left.  There  is  a  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  with  lamp  on  it,  four  dining 
chairs  and  two  easy  chairs.  There  is  a  sideboard  at 
left  of  door,  back.  Conventional  dining  room  pic 
tures  are  on  the  walls. 

MARTA  sits  at  the  table,  with  a  ledger  before  her.  There 
are  bills,  accounts,  etc.,  on  the  table.  She  appears 
to  be  a  woman  of  about  fifty- five,  with  black  eyes  and 
gray  hair.  She  is  plainly  dressed.  Her  care-lined 
face  and  round  shoulders  tell  of  life's  hard  struggle. 
Her  expression  is  one  of  bitterness  and  suspicion. 
She  busies  herself  a  moment,  making  entries  in  the 
ledger.  A  knock  at  door,  right. 

MARTA.     Come  in ! 

[Enter  ANTONIO.     He  is  a  man  of  sixty,  poorly 
but  neatly  dressed.     He  is  a  slight,  mild  man 
nered  man,  with  gentle   brown  eyes,  and  thin 
gray  hair.     He  has  a  small  package  in  his  hana.] 
ANTONIO.     Good  evening,  Marta.     Here  I  am  again, 
and  you  still  at  the  bills.     I  must  be  early. 


32  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

MARTA.     Never  mind.     I'm  done  now.     Sit  down. 

ANTONIO.  [Offering  her  the  package.]  Here's  a 
birthday  gift  for  tomorrow,  Marta.  Just  a  trifle.  But 
you  mustn't  open  it  until  morning. 

MARTA.  [Harshly.]  Don't  remind  me!  [She  notes 
his  disappointed  look,  and  adds,  more  kindly,  taking  the 
package.}  Thank  you,  just  the  same,  Antonio.  Will 
you  have  a  glass  of  wine? 

ANTONIO.  [Sitting  down,  left  of  table.]  No,  thank 
you,  Marta. 

MARTA.  We  will  have  coffee,  then.  Elena  won't  be 
ready  until  nearly  twelve. 

ANTONIO.  Thanks.  I  don't  mind  the  coffee,  if  it's 
no  trouble. 

MARTA.  None  at  all.  I  have  it  every  night.  A  bit 
to  eat  with  it? 

ANTONIO.  Oh,  no,  thanks.  Just  the  coffee.  [MARTA 
goes  out  door,  back,  and  returns  in  a  moment  carrying 
a  tray.] 

MARTA.  All  ready  now,  in  just  a  minute.  [She  puts 
tray  on  sideboard,  places  coffee  pot,  cups,  etc.,  on  table, 
and  serves  the  coffee,  then  sits  at  table,  facing  audience.  ] 

ANTONIO.  [Sipping  the  coffee.]  Ah!  That's  fine. 
Everyone  says  there's  no  coffee  such  as  you  get  in 
Toscana  Tavern.  You've  made  a  great  success  of  this 
place,  Marta,  since — since  you've  had  it  alone. 

MARTA.     Since  Pietro  left  me,  you  mean.     Say  it  out ! 

ANTONIO.  [Apologetically.]  I  didn't  mean  that, 
Marta.  God  knows  I  didn't.  A  friend  that's  known  you 
all  your  life  wouldn't  say  anything  to  hurt  you. 

MARTA.  Oh,  it's  not  what  you  say.  It's  what  I  feel. 
It's  the  life  I've  had  to  live,  these  eleven  years.  Work, 
work,  and  save !  And  the  place  not  paid  for  yet !  But 
he  will  never  trouble  me  again.  He's  dead  at  last. 

ANTONIO.     Good  Lord!     How?     When? 

MARTA.  [Shrugging.]  I  only  know  what  old  Nori 
told  me — in  Chicago — some  fever,  he  said. 

ANTONIO.      [Moved.]      Pietro  Morselli  dead!      Poor 


IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN  33 

Pietro !  He  had  his  faults,  Marta.  We  all  have  faults. 
But  we  must  think  kindly  of  him  now. 

MARTA.     [Coldly.]     I  hate  him  the  same  as  ever. 

ANTONIO.  Marta,  Marta!  God  forgive  you  for 
speaking  that  way  of  Pietro,  now.  he's  dead. 

MARTA.  [Bitterly.]  Don't  talk  God  to  me!  What 
has  God  done  for  me?  Didn't  I  work  every  day,  early 
and  late,  since  we  came  to  America?  Didn't  I  wash 
dishes  in  the  places  where  Pietro  worked  as  waiter? 
We  couldn't  speak  the  language,  and  they  paid  us  little 
enough,  God  knows !  And  when  my  baby  was  born,  I 
had  to  take  him  into  the  kitchen  with  me.  It  was  seven 
years  before  we  could  get  a  place  of  our  own — a  poor 
one,  at  that.  "Work  hard,"  Pietro  would  say.  "We  will 
be  rich  some  time."  Six  years  later  we  got  this  place. 
I  wish  I  had  died  first !  It  was  then  I  took  that  girl  in, 
off  the  streets,  so  she  could  make  an  honest  living.  I 
believed  in  God,  then, — in  your  God,  Antonio.  [She  rises 
in  her  excitement]  And  Pietro  lost  his  head,  and  ran 
away  with  her,  and  took  the  money  we  had  saved  up 
toward  buying  the  place — [With  rising  passion.]  took 
the  money,  Antonio, — do  you  hear  ?  the  money ! 

ANTONIO.  [Rising,  and  speaking  soothingly.]  Don't 
Marta !  Don't  think  of  those  things  now. 

MARTA.  [  With  increasing  bitterness.  ]  God  did  more ! 
The  boy,  Antonio!  You  know  how  he  stayed  out  on 
the  streets,  looking  for  his  father  till  midnight,  and  I 
afraid  he  was  stolen!  I  whipped  him,  and  put  him  to 
bed.  Next  day  he  ran  away! 

ANTONIO.     But  Marta — 

MARTA.  Everything  went — the  man,  the  boy,  the 
money!  Let  them  go! 

ANTONIO.  [Earnestly.]  Marta,  whatever  happens, 
never  lose  faith  in  God. 

MARTA.  [Cynically.]  Oh,  I  trust  God,  Antonio,  but 
not  your  God.  [Resuming  her  seat  and  tapping  the 
ledger.]  See  here,  Antonio,  I  made  money  this  week. 
That  is  the  God  I  trust. 


34  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

ANTONJO.     [Dropping  into  his  chair.]     Marta!  Marta! 

MARTA.  I  am  right.  Listen.  I  remember  what 
Father  Petrello  said  once:  "God  will  take  care  of  you, 
Marta.  Only  trust  God."  Those  were  his  very  words, 
Antonio.  And  it's  money  that  takes  care  of  me.  If  I 
were  a  day  late  with  my  payment,  do  you  think  old  Mecchi 
would  take  beads  or  prayers  ?  Bah  !  It's  money  they  all 
want — money,  money ! 

ANTONIO.  [In  a  conciliatory  tone.]  Of  course,  in 
business,  you  know.  [Breaking  off.]  Come  now — don't 
be  so  unhappy.  Besides,  I've  something  to  tell  you.  It's 
about  Elena.  How  long  has  she  been  with  you,  Marta? 

MARTA.     [Indifferently.]     You  know  as  well  as  I. 

ANTONIO.  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  Well,  I'm  thinking 
— only  thinking,  you  know — of  having  her  leave  the 
restaurant,  for  a  time  at  least. 

MARTA.     What  is  it?     More  pay  somewhere  else? 

ANTONIO.  Oh,  no,  no !  It's  not  that  at  all.  You  see 
the  poor  girl  hasn't  had  much  education.  I  want  her  to 
go  to  the  Sisters'  School,  and  take  piano  lessons,  too,  if 
we  can  afford  it.  She  has  no  time  for  such  things  now, 
and  since  her  mother  died,  it's  harder  on  her  than  ever. 
The  young  children  need  her,  and  I  am  in  the  shop  all  day. 

MARTA.     [Coldly.]     Well,  does  she  want  to  go? 

ANTONIO.  No,  that  is  just  it.  She's  so  fond  of  you — 
calls  you  "Aunt  Marta,"  just  as  though  you  were  her 
own  kin.  You  must  urge  her  to  leave,  Marta,  for  her 
own  good,  you  know. 

MARTA.  You  will  spoil  the  girl,  Antonio,  with  books 
and  music  lessons.  She  will  make  no  better  marriage 
for  all  that.  And  you  can't  afford  it  either, — now,  can 
you? 

ANTONIO.  No,  not  really.  But  we  could  manage 
some  way. 

MARTA.  Beppe  Rosani  would  take  her  now,  and  he 
has  money. 

ANTONIO.     But  Elena  doesn't  want  him. 

MARTA.     [Scornfully. ]     So  you  let  her  choose!    The 


IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN  35 

girl  knows  more  than  the  father,  eh?  Had  I  married  the 
man  my  father  picked  out,  I  would  be  a  rich  man's  wife 
now.  But  I  ran  away  with  the  worthless  Pietro,  and 
came  to  America. 

[Enter  ELENA.  She  is  a  handsome  girl  of  twenty- 
one ',  with  black  hair,  brown  eyes,  and  good  color. 
She  wears  a  neat  waitress'  apron  over  a  black 
dress.  ] 

ELENA.  A  gentleman  wants  to  see  you,  Aunt  Marta. 
He  wants  to  know  if  you  can  give  him  a  room  for  the 
night. 

MARTA.  [Rising.]  We  don't  keep  lodgers.  Who  is 
he? 

ELENA.  He  says  he's  a  stranger,  just  in  on  the  boat 
from  Galveston,  and  it's  late  now  to  look  for  lodgings, 
and  he's  willing  to  pay  well. 

MARTA.  Such  talk  comes  from  the  ones  who  go  away 
without  paying  at  all. 

ELENA.  I  wish  you  would  see  him.  He  specially 
asked  if  Marta  Morselli  kept  the  place,  and  could  he  see 
her. 

MARTA.  Well,  there's  the  spare  room,  if  he  is  willing 
to  pay.  Show  him  in,  Elena.  [ELENA  goes  out  rear.] 
Now  why  should  a  stranger  be  coining  here,  Antonio,  at 
this  time  of  night? 

ANTONIO.  Toscana  Tavern  is  well  thought  of,  Marta 
—didn't  I  tell  you? 

[Enter  ELENA  and  MARIO.  He  is  a  young  man 
of  twenty-four,  with  black  eyes,  black,  curly  hair 
and  mustache.  He  is  well  dressed.] 

MARTA.  You  want  to  see  me?  What  will  the  gentle 
man  have? 

MARIO.  Supper  first,  and  I  want  you  to  keep  me  for 
the  night — perhaps  longer. 

MARTA.  You  can  have  a  bed,  and  it's  our  best.  Our 
special  Saturday  night  dinner  is  now  being  served.  Our 
guests  say  it  is  good. 

MARIO.     I  am  sure  it  is  very  good.    Where  shall  I  eat? 


36  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

MARTA.  In  the  main  dining  room,  or  here,  if  the 
gentleman  prefers. 

MARIO.  I'll  stay  here,  then.  [MARTA  places  a  chair 
at  the  table.  She  reaches  for  the  lamp.  MARIO  steps 
forward.]  Let  me  help  you,  please.  [She  resents  the 
proffered  help,  showing  irritation,  and  puts  the  lamp  on 
the  sideboard.  ELENA  spreads  a  fresh  cloth  on  table, 
meanwhile  watching  MARIO  closely.} 

MARTA.  [Significantly.}  The  gentleman  was  sent 
here,  perhaps,  by  some  friend? 

MARIO.  No,  I  am  a  stranger.  [Divining  her  meaning. } 
But  I  will  pay  in  advance.  Will  you  change  this  bill, 
please?  [Takes  out  a  large  roll,  and  hands  MARTA  a 
fifty  dollar  bill} 

MARTA.  [Taking  the  bill.}  Diablo!  Have  I  so  much 
change  in  the  house?  [She  examines  the  bill  critically, 
rubbing  it  in  her  fingers.  She  goes  out,  rear,  followed 
by  ELENA.  MARIO  takes  seat  at  table,  facing  audience.} 

MARIO.  [To  ANTONIO.]  Well,  my  friend,  are  you 
one  of  the  force  here? 

ANTONIO.  Oh,  no.  I'm  only  waiting  here  for  my 
daughter. 

MARIO.     You  live  near? 

ANTONIO.    Yes. 

MARIO.  Just  two  doors  up  the  street,  isn't  it — opposite 
the  engine  house? 

ANTONIO.     [In  wonder.}     Yes,  but  how  did  you — 

MARIO.  I  was  sure  of  it.  You  are  Antonio  Rizzi,  the 
shoemaker.  [Rising.]  And  I  am  Mario,  the  boy  who 
ran  away,  eleven  years  ago. 

ANTONIO.     [Springing  up.]     Mother  of  God! 

MARIO.  Sh !  Not  a  word  to  my  mother,  yet.  I  plan 
to  surprise  her  tomorrow. 

ANTONIO.  Mario !  Mario  come  back  again !  I  can 
scarce  believe  it.  Oh!  this  will  change  Marta's  life. 
Tell  me  about  it,  Mario,  before  she  comes  in  again.  You 
have  prospered? 

MARIO.     [Boastfully.]     I  have  done  rather  well,  yes. 


IN  TOSCANA   TAVERN  37 

I  have  worked  hard — first  for  others,  then  for  myself. 
I  have  money  in  the  bank,  more  in  the  business.  [Sits 
down.  ANTONIO  also  sits  down.] 

ANTONIO.  God  be  praised,  Mario!  Tomorrow  will 
be  a  wonderful  day  for  her. 

MARIO.  [Takes  a  bracelet  from  his  pocket.]  This  is 
for  her  birthday,  tomorrow.  Madre  will  think  me  rich. 

ANTONIO.  [Examining  the  bracelet.]  Gold,  dia 
monds!  How  much  is  it  worth,  Mario? 

MARIO.  The  stones  alone  are  a  thousand  dollars.  Let 
me  tell  you  how  I  got  it—  [At  sound  of  door,  opening 
at  back,  he  puts  his  finger  to  his  lips.  ANTONIO  returns 
the  bracelet,  as  MARTA  enters.] 

MARTA.  [Handing  bills  to  MARIO.]  The  gentleman's 
change. 

MARIO.  [Replaces  money  without  counting  it,  and 
hands  MARTA  a  five-dollar  bill]  For  the  dinner  and 
night's  lodging. 

MARTA.  Dinner,  one-fifty.  That  includes  the  wine, 
too.  Room,  two-fifty.  Four  dollars  in  all. 

MARIO.  Never  mind  the  change.  [Noting  MARTA'S 
surprise.]  Keep  it  on  account. 

MARTA.  [Graciously.]  I  hope  the  gentleman  will  be 
satisfied  with  everything. 

MARIO.  I  am  sure  to  like  it.  May  I  use  your  tele 
phone,  please?  I  must  arrange  for  my  baggage. 

MARTA.  [Pointing  to  door  in  rear.]  Through  the 
door  to  the  left.  [MARIO  goes  out.] 

ANTONIO.  [Excitedly.  ]  Oh,  Marta !  This  is  the  be 
ginning  of  good  luck  for  you.  A  rich  man  in  your  house, 
on  your  birthday!  It's  a  sure  sign,  they  say. 

MARTA.  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Antonio?  You 
get  excited  over  nothing.  I  shall  be  lucky,  if  that  bill 
isn't  bad.  I  must  take  it  to  the  bank,  before  he  goes 
away. 

ANTONIO.  Oh,  he'll  not  go — I  mean,  not  soon.  He'll 
like  it  here,  and  stay  some  time,  at  least.  Fine  for  you, 
Marta. 


38  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

MARTA.  Did  you  learn  anything  about  him,  Antonio? 
What  was  he  showing  you  when  I  came  in? 

ANTONIO.  A  wonderful  bracelet,  Marta,  all  set  with 
stones — diamonds.  I'm  sure  they  were  diamonds.  Worth 
a  thousand  dollars,  he  said. 

MARTA.  [In  surprise.]  A  bracelet  with  diamonds! 
Are  you  sure  they  were  real? 

ANTONIO.  No  doubt,  at  all.  And  the  man's  rich,  Marta. 

MARTA.  [Suspiciously.]  What  would  a  man  be  doing 
here,  with  a  bracelet  like  that? 

ANTONIO.  [Hesitatingly.]  Why, — it's  for  a  lady — 
a  present,  you  know. 

MARIO.  [Entering.]  Well,  that's  settled.  Now  for  dinner. 

MARTA.  [Obsequiously.]  Sorry  to  keep  the  gentle 
man  waiting.  But  there's  always  a  rush,  Saturday  night. 
I  will  look  after  the  matter  myself.  You  may  come 
with  me,  Antonio.  [MARTA  and  ANTONIO  go  out,  rear. 
MARIO  walks  about  the  room,  looking  at  everything  with 
great  interest,  then  sits  down,  r}ight.  Enter  ELENA  with 
tray  on  which  are  various  dishes,  etc.  She  puts  tray  on 
sideboard,  and  looks  steadily  at  MARIO  for  a  moment.] 

ELENA.     Mario ! 

MARIO.     [Springing  up.]     Elena!     You  know  me. 

ELENA.  Yes,  Mario,  and  I  thank  God  and  the  Blessed 
Virgin  for  this  day.  Oh,  Mario,  I  knew  you  would  come. 

MARIO.  How  did  you  know  me?  Eleven  years 
change  a  boy  of  thirteen  into  a  man. 

ELENA.  When  you  first  spoke  to  me,  something  told 
me  you  were  no  stranger.  When  you  talked  with  your 
mother,  I  was  sure  of  it.  Oh,  she  must  know  at  once! 
[Starts  for  door,  rear.] 

MARIO.  Wait,  Elena.  Listen.  Tomorrow  is  her 
birthday — the  day  I  went  away.  I  will  tell  her  then.  I 
will  give  her  myself  as  a  birthday  gift. 

ELENA.  Oh,  Mario,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  back. 
[She  puts  the  various  dishes  on  the  table.] 

MARIO.  And  so  am  I,  Elena.  I  have  been  planning 
on  this  for  a  long  time. 


,  IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN  39 

ELENA.  And  to  be  here  on  her  birthday — what  a 
surprise ! 

MARIO.  This  will  surprise  her  too,  Elena.  [Takes 
out  the  bracelet,  hands  it  to  her,  and  seats  himself  at  the 
table,  facing  audience.] 

ELENA.  [Admiring  the  bracelet.]  Oh,  how  beautiful! 
I  never  saw  anything  so  fine  before.  It  must  have  cost 
a  good  deal,  Mario. 

MARIO.  It  cost  me  nothing  but  a  kind  act.  It  is  a 
strange  story,  Elena.  One  night  I  saw  two  thieves  set 
upon  a  man  in  a  dark  street.  I  ran  to  help  him.  [He 
begins  to  eat.] 

ELENA.     [Serving  him.]     That  was  brave  of  you. 

MARIO.  They  would  have  killed  him  to  get  this 
bracelet,  and  he  did  die  later  of  his  wounds.  He  gave 
the  bracelet  to  me.  He  said  it  had  brought  him  nothing 
but  ill  luck. 

ELENA.  What  an  adventure !  And  what  a  wonderful 
bracelet ! 

MARIO.  Yes,  don't  you  think  she  will  like  it?  It  will 
mean  good  luck  to  her. 

ELENA.  But  your  return  will  mean  more  to  her.  She 
needs  you,  Mario. 

MARIO.  I  am  going  to  make  up  for  the  past,  Elena,  in 
every  way  I  can.  When  I  ran  away,  I  felt  abused,  out 
raged.  As  I  got  older,  I  began  to  see  that  instead  of 
being  wronged,  I  had  wronged  her — had  deserted  her — 
left  her  to  fight  the  world  alone. 

ELENA.     You  were  only  a  boy,  then. 

MARIO.  Yes,  I  deserted.  I  never  felt  it  so  clearly 
as  tonight.  Poor  Madre  looks  fifty-five,  instead  of  forty- 
five.  She  is  gray  and  careworn.  I  could  have  saved 
her  from  all  this.  But  she  need  never  work  again.  I 
will  take  good  care  of  her. 

ELENA.  And  she  will  be  happy  now.  [Pause.]  Does 
the  place  seem  the  same  to  you,  Mario? 

MARIO.     Just  the  same,  only  smaller,  and  dingy. 

ELENA.     And  the  people — you  knew  us  all? 


40  SIX   SHORT   PLAYS 

MARIO.  Oh,  yes,  but  you  have  changed.  [With 
evident  admiration.]  My  little  playmate  is  now  so — so 
tall.  You  are  quite  a  young  lady. 

ELENA.  Yes,  yes.  But  tell  me,  Mario,  why  have  you 
never  written  your  mother? 

MARIO.  First,  I  feared  I  would  be  brought  back — and 
then,  foolish  pride.  [Eagerly.]  Tell  me  about  her, 
Elena,  has  she  had  a  hard  time? 

ELENA.     Of  course,  she  has  been  unhappy. 

MARIO.  I  mean  has  she  had  to  work  hard  to  make 
ends  meet? 

ELENA.  It  was  hard  at  first  for  her  to  keep  the  place 
going.  It  pays  better  now,  but  she  works  as  hard  as  ever. 

MARIO.     And  why  is  that?     [He  stops  eating.] 

ELENA.  She  is  most  unhappy  when  idle.  At  work 
she  forgets,  she  says.  But  you  are  not  eating.  Your 
dinner  will  get  cold. 

MARIO.     I  can't  eat  now.     I've  no  appetite. 
[MARTA  enters  at  door,  back.] 

MARTA.  Rosa  needs  your  help,  for  a  minute,  Elena. 
[ELENA  goes  out  door,  back.]  Everything  all  right? 

MARIO.  [Beginning  to  eat  again,  with  apparent  relish.] 
The  dinner  is  very  good,  indeed.  This  is  a  fine  cafe. 

MARTA.     [Drily.]     A  fine  place  for  hard  work. 

MARIO.  But  surely  you  don't  manage  the  place  alone. 
You  have  children — a  son,  perhaps? 

MARTA.  [Coldly.]  I  have  no  one.  [She  serves  him 
a  glass  of  water,  from  sideboard.  He  smiles  at  her,  as 
he  takes  the  glass.  She  returns  his  look  with  cold  in 
difference.  Enter  ELENA.  MARTA  goes  out  rear.] 

ELENA.     She  didn't  know  you? 

MARIO.  [Sadly.]  No,  not  yet.  Tell  me,  Elena,  how 
long  have  you  been  here? 

ELENA.  A  long  time.  Ever  since  you  went  away, 
almost. 

MARIO.     But  you  were  so  young  then — not  over  ten. 

ELENA.  I  couldn't  help  much,  of  course,  but  she  said 
I  was  company.  Oh,  Mario,  she  was  so  unhappy.  I 


IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN  41 

*  0 

stay  here  all  the  time  now,  except  Sundays.  Father 
wants  me  to  give  it  up. 

MARIO.     He  thinks  it  is  too  hard  for  you  ? 

ELENA.  He  thinks  I  ought  to  go  to  school.  He  wants 
me  to  have  advantages,  like  other  girls,  he  says,  piano 
lessons,  too.  I  had  to  give  all  that  up,  when  I  came  here. 

MARIO.     [With  suppressed  emotion.}     Elena,   Elena! 

ELENA.  Now  that  you  have  come,  I  wouldn't  be 
missed,  perhaps.  You  will  manage  it  all.  Just  think 
what  you  can  do,  Mario,  now  you  are  rich. 

MARIO.  Oh,  Elena !  I  begin  to  doubt  that.  You  are 
the  rich  one.  [A  pause.]  Do  you  remember  how  we 
played  in  this  very  room,  as  children? 

ELENA.     Yes,  Mario. 

MARIO.  Right  over  there,  in  the  corner,  you  had  a 
little  table,  and  you  would  set  it  in  fine  style  for  the  two 
of  us,  and  Madre  would  make  little  cakes  for  you  to  serve. 
Do  you  remember,  Elena.? 

ELENA.     [Softly.]     Yes,  Mario. 

MARIO.  [Eagerly.]  And  we  planned  just  how  we 
would  run  the  restaurant  together,  when  we  grew  up. 
Do  you  remember  that.  Elena? 

ELENA.  [Turning  away  in  confusion.]  I  must  clear 
up  the  table  now.  It  is  getting  late. 

MARIO.  [Rising.]  So,  little  comrade,  when  I  ran 
away,  you  filled  my  place.  You  took  the  post  I  deserted. 

ELENA.  I  was  so  sorry  for  her.  I  was  sorry  for  you, 
too,  Mario. 

MARIO.     Sorry  for  me? 

ELENA.  Yes.  I  used  to  wonder  where  you  were,  and 
I  prayed  you  might  not  be  cold  or  hungry,  and  I  had 
faith  you  would  come  back. 

MARIO.  [Going  toward  her.]  You  good  angel!  I 
hope,  sometime,  to  repay  you  for  this. 

ELENA.  There  is  something  you  can  do  for  me  now — 
tonight,  Mario. 

MARIO.     What  is  it? 

ELENA.     Don't  wait  till  tomorrow.     Let  your  mother 


42  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

know  tonight.  Let  me  tell  her.  I  want  to  see  her 
happiness.  I  shall  not  be  here  tomorrow.  Let  me  tell 
her  tonight,  Mario. 

MARIO.  [A  pause.]  You  may  tell  her.  Your  right 
is  better  than  mine. 

ELENA.  Oh,  thank  you,  Mario.  You  make  me  so 
happy.  Now  to  arrange  it.  Your  room  is  there. 
[Pointing  to  door  left.]  Father  and  I  will  go  home  at 
once,  and  I  will  bring  the  f owers  I  have  for  her  birthday. 
We  will  be  back  soon.  You  are  to  retire  as  though 
nothing  had  happened.  Leave  the  rest  to  me.  If  you 
fall  asleep,  your  mother  will  surely  waken  you.  [Holds 
out  her  hand.]  Now  good  night,  and  happy  dreams. 

MARIO.  [Taking  both  her  hands  in  his.]  Good  night, 
Elena.  God  bless  you  and  keep  you.  [MARIO  goes  out 
door  left.] 

ELENA.  How  excited  I  am  over  all  that  has  happened ! 
My  cheeks  burn  so!  [A  pause.]  Father  is  right.  I 
must  go  to  school  again.  Now  to  work.  [She  begins  to 
clear  up  table,  putting  things  in  order.  Enter  MARTA 
and  ANTONIO.] 

ANTONIO.  Not  done  yet,  Elena?  Where  is  the 
stranger  ? 

ELENA.     Gone  to  his  room. 

ANTONIO.     He  must  be  tired  after  so  long  a  journey. 

MARTA.  Long  journey,  indeed!  I  do  believe  you 
would  think  him  from  the  moon,  if  he  said  so,  Antonio. 

ANTONIO.  [Significantly.]  I  know  more  about  him, 
perhaps,  than  you  think  I  do.  Wonderful  things  happen 
sometimes,  Marta. 

MARTA.  [Ironically.]  A  thousand-dollar  bracelet! 
We'll  have  the  police  here  tomorrow. 

ANTONIO.  [With  enthusiasm.]  Just  you  remember 
what  I  said  about  good  luck,  Marta. 

MARTA.  Luck,  bah!  Drudge  and  slave!  Work  till 
I  drop !  That's  my  luck.  A  diamond  bracelet  for  some 
idle  hussy !  No  doubt  he  stole  it. 

ELENA.     [Nervously.]     Father,  I'm  ready  now.     Let 


IN  TOSCANA  TAVERN  43 

'* 

us  go.     Good  night,  Aunt  Marta.     [ELENA  and  ANTONIO 
go  toward  door  right.] 

ANTONIO.  [At  the  door.]  You  will  see  that  I  am  a 
good  prophet,  this  time.  Good  night,  Marta.  [ELENA 
and  ANTONIO  go  out,  right.  MARTA  looks  after  them  a 
moment.  A  look  of  greedy  cunning  comes  into  her  face. 
She  goes  quietly  to  door,  left,  listens  at  keyhole,  turns 
the  knob  softly,  opens  the  door  a  little,  looks  in,  and 
listens.  She  closes  the  door  again,  and  stands  irresolute. 
She  goes  to  street  door  and  listens,  then  to  door,  rear, 
and  listens.  Then  she  goes  to  sideboard,  opens  a  drawer, 
takes  out  a  dagger,  and  hides  it  in  her  bosom.  She  opens 
door  left,  again,  and  goes  stealthily  in.  Long  pause,  then 
sound  of  a  struggle.} 

MARIO.     [From  within.]     Murder!    Help!    Oh,  help! 

[MARTA  rushes  out.     Her  hair  is  disheveled,  her 

face  drawn,  a  wild  look  in  her  eyes.     She  is 

shaking  with  excitement.     She  has  the  bracelet 

in  her  hand.] 

MARIO.  [From  within.}  Help!  Oh,  God!  I  am 
dying!  [MARTA  starts  back  in  terror.  From  within  is 
heard  sound  of  unsteady  steps.  MARIO  staggers  in.  He 
is  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  his  hair  disordered,  his  face  drawn 
with  pain  and  wonder.  MARTA  shrinks  farther  back. 
She  still  holds  the  bracelet.} 

MARIO.  [In  agonized  tones.]  You — you!  Oh, 
Madre!  Don't  you  know  me?  I  am  Mario,  your  boy. 

MARTA.  [Putting  her  hands  to  her  head.}  No,  no! 
Not  Mario  !  Not  my  boy !  God,  I  shall  go  mad ! 

MARIO.  [Holding  out  his  hands.]  I  am  Mario — come 
back  to  you.  [He  falls  to  the  floor.} 

MARTA.  [Rushes  to  him,  and  kneels  by  his  head.] 
My  boy!  Mario!  Oh,  oh!  [Raising  her  arms.]  Kill 
me  now,  oh  God!  Strike  me  dead! 

MARIO.  You  didn't  know — you  didn't  know.  \Noise 
at  street  door  right.  ANTONIO  and  ELENA  hurry  into  the 
room.  ELENA  is  carrying  lilies.] 

ANTONIO.     [Entering.]     We  heard  a  cry.     [Coming 


44  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

to  center.]  Blood!  Oh,  Mother  of  God!  What  has 
happened  ? 

MARTA.     [Moaning.]     I — oh,  oh! 

MARIO.     A  thief  stabbed  me — the  window  was  open. 

ELENA.  [Drops  the  lilies  at  MARIO'S  feet,  and  cries 
in  grief  and  anguish]  Mario,  Mario!  Holy  Virgin! 
And  the  first  night  in  your  mother's  house ! 

MARIO.  [With  effort.]  Forgive  me,  Madre,  for 
running  away. 

MARTA.  [Moaning  hysterically.]  Let  me  die!  Let 
me  die! 

MARIO.  [With  great  effort.]  Kiss  me,  Madre.  Put 
your  hand  on  my  head  and  pray  for  me — as  you  did  when 
I  was  little.  I  am  going  to  sleep — now —  [His  head 
falls  on  her  lap,  his  body  relaxes.  All  note  the  change. 
ANTONIO  pulls  off  his  cap.] 

MARTA.  [Screaming  and  throwing  herself  across 
MARIO'S  body.]  Mario!  [ELENA  and  ANTONIO  cross 
themselves  and  kneel.  ELENA'S  lips  move  in  prayer. 
The  curtain  falls  slowly.  ] 


ONESIMUS 

A   BIBLICAL   PLAY 


CHARACTERS 

PHILEMON,  head  of  the  church  at  Colossa. 
APPHIA,  his  daughter. 
ARCHIPPUS,  his  steward. 
PASHUR,  a  money  lender. 
ONESIMUS,  a  runaway  slave. 

The  action  takes  place  at  Colossce,  in  the  autumn  of  63 
A.  D. 


ONESIMUS 

A   BIBLICAL   PLAY 

The  curtain  rises,  disclosing  the  portico  of  PHILEMON'S 
house.  There  is  a  bench,  left  front.  PHILEMON  is 
walking  to  and  fro,  showing  sorrow  and  dejection. 
ARCHIPPUS  looks  on,  with  respect  and  compassion. 

PHILEMON.  I  am  the  man  that  hath  seen  affliction  by 
the  rod  of  His  wrath.  He  hath  led  me  and  brought  me 
into  darkness,  but  not  into  light.  Surely  against  me  He 
is  turned;  He  turneth  his  hand  against  me  all  the  day. 
[Beats  his  breast.]  He  hath  hedged  me  about,  that  I 
cannot  get  out.  He  hath  made  my  chain  heavy.  He 
hath  turned  aside  my  ways,  and  pulled  me  to  pieces.  He 
hath  made  me  desolate.  [Beats  his  breast.] 

ARCHIPPUS.  The  Lord  will  not  cast  off  forever:  but 
though  he  cause  grief,  yet  will  He  have  compassion 
according  to  the  multitude  of  His  mercies.  For  He  doth 
not  afflict  willingly,  nor  grieve  the  children  of  men. 

PHILEMON.  Archippus,  I  am  utterly  undone.  My 
goods  are  wasted,  and  my  head  bowed  down.  Would 
Paul  were  here  to  help  me! 

ARCHIPPUS.  Long  hath  it  been  since  we  had  tidings 
of  him. 

PHILEMON.  I  do  fear  that  Stephen's  fate  hath  com 
passed  him. 

ARCHIPPUS.  His  counsel  still  abideth.  We  must  be 
strong  in  the  Lord,  and  in  His  mighty  power. 

47 


48  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

PHILEMON.  Yea,  we  must  put  on  the  whole  armor 
of  God,  that  we  may  be  able  to  withstand  in  the  evil  day, 
and  having  done  all,  to  stand.  Hast  heard  aught  touching 
Onesimus  ? 

ARCHIPPUS.  Naught  save  this  report;  he  joined  a 
Phrygian  cohort,  setting  out  for  Rome. 

PHILEMON.     The  base,  ungrateful  slave! 

ARCHIPPUS.  So  young  and  fair  to  look  upon,  but 
Satan  filled  his  heart. 

PHILEMON.  I  held  him  as  a  hired  servant  rather  than 
a  slave,  and  thus  did  he  requite  me:  he  stole  my  goods 
and  ran  away.  All  my  misfortunes  come  from  his 
iniquity. 

ARCHIPPUS.  True,  our  affliction  hath  been  grievous 
from  that  day. 

PHILEMON.  And  each  woe  doth  beget  a  greater. 
Now  is  the  greatest  come.  It  was  an  evil  day  when  I 
sought  help  of  Pashur. 

ARCHIPPUS.  Yea,  that  which  I  feared  hath  come 
upon  us. 

PHILEMON.  I  am  in  his  dept  a  thousand  talents,  which 
must  be  paid  straightway  with  usury.  And  I  have  naught 
to  pay  withal.  Today  he  comes  to  reckon  with  me,  and 
my  bond  is  forfeit. 

ARCHIPPUS.  [In  distress.]  But  will  he  not  have 
patience  with  thee  yet  awhile,  till  thou  canst  pay  him  all  ? 

PHILEMON.  Nay,  good  Archippus,  he  is  a  Pharisee. 
He  doth  demand  strict  justice;  mercy  knoweth  he  not. 

ARCHIPPUS.     And  thou  canst  not  discharge  the  bond ! 

PHILEMON.  I  shall  be  thrown  into  prison,  and  not 
come  forth,  until  I  have  paid  the  uttermost  farthing.  It 
is  the  law. 

ARCHIPPUS.  [Beating  his  breast.]  Woe,  woe  unto 
this  house !  [Pause.  ]  Good  master,  give  me  leave  to  go 
straightway  unto  the  brethren.  Perchance  they  may  de 
liver  thee  from  this  Pharisee. 


ONESIMUS  49 

PHILEMON.  Go,  and  God's  peace  be  with  thee.  Tax 
not  the  brethren  overmuch  for  me. 

ARCHIPPUS.  God's  peace  be  with  thee,  Master! 
[Makes  obeisance,  by  bending  the  body  forward,  hands 
outstretched  before  him,  palms  down,  and  then  goes  out, 
right.  Enter  PASHUR  from  left.] 

PASHUR.  Greetings,  good  Philemon,  and  peace  be 
with  thee! 

PHILEMON.     And  peace  to  thee! 

PASHUR.  The  time  for  reckoning  hath  come,  good 
Philemon.  Thou  dost  owe  a  thousand  talents  with  the 
usury.  Today  thy  bond  is  forfeit. 

PHILEMON.  Alas!  Have  patience  with  me  yet 
awhile,  and  I  will  pay  thee  all. 

PASHUR.  The  covenant  reads  payment  for  today. 
Tomorrow  is  the  first  of  Tizri.  It  is  not  lawful  to  con 
sider  business  during  the  Feast  of  Trumpets. 

PHILEMON.     I  cannot  pay  thee  now.     Forbear  a  little. 

PASHUR.  Thus  do  ye  Christians  set  at  naught  both 
law  and  justice,  and  covenants  are  meaningless.  And  yet 
ye  rail  at  us,  who  are  most  strict  in  our  observances. 
God  ruleth  the  world  by  law  and  order,  and  hath  done 
so  since  first  he  laid  the  earth's  foundation.  The  sun 
ever  cometh  at  the  appointed  time.  The  tides  rise  and 
fall  in  measured  flow.  The  month  of  Nisan  bringeth 
flowers,  and  winter's  cold  taketh  them  away.  The  vine 
and  fig  tree  yield  their  fruits,  according  to  their  season. 
And  sun  and  tide  and  flower  and  fruit  obey  God's  law. 
And  so  among  the  tribes  that  fill  the  earth,  God  hath  a 
chosen  one,  whose  sons  love  law  and  order,  speak  truth, 
keep  faith,  fulfill. 

PHILEMON.  Have  mercy !  [A  pause.  PASHUR  walks 
to  and  fro.  APPHIA  appears  at  curtained  door,  rear.] 

PASHUR.  Thou  mayest  discharge  the  bond  after  this 
fashion.  Thou  hast  a  daughter,  fairest  of  all  the 
Phrygian  maidens.  She  hath  found  great  favor  in  mine 
eyes.  Give  her  to  me,  and  take  thy  bond. 


50  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

PHILEMON.  [In  astonishment.]  What  sayest  thou, 
Pashur? 

PASHUR.     Give  me  Apphia  to  wife,  and  take  thy  bond. 

PHILEMON.  How  canst  thou,  a  Pharisee,  ask  this  thing? 

PASHUR.  O  that  she  might  be  mine !  I  long  for  her, 
and  sigh  for  her.  She  is  the  rose  of  Sharon  and  the  lily 
of  the  valleys. 

PHILEMON.     This  cannot  be. 

PASHUR.  The  debt  will  thus  be  paid.  I  will  do  more. 
I  will  restore  thy  broken  fortunes. 

[APPHIA  disappears.] 

PHILEMON.     She  will  not,  cannot,  marry  an  unbeliever. 

PASHUR.  I  pray  thee,  give  her  to  me.  My  parents 
will  then  come  to  thee,  and  make  offer  for  her,  and  the 
espousal  be  confirmed  by  vows  and  presents.  Oh,  give 
consent,  Philemon.  Thou  hast  the  right  and  power  to 
dispose  of  her  as  thou  wishest. 

PHILEMON.  I  cannot.  We  Christians  do  not  hold 
that  custom.  She  shall  choose  a  man  for  her  husband. 
I  have  said  it.  It  is  a  vow.  Nor  would  I  have  her  wed 
to  one  like  thee. 

PASHUR.     Because  I  bow  not  to  the  man  of  Galilee. 

PHILEMON.     He  is  the  true  Messiah. 

PASHUR.  A  good  rabbi,  verily,  who  taught  great 
truths.  But  do  not  our  own  rabbis  teach  the  same? 
It  was  great  Hillel,  our  first  Nasi,  who  said,  "Do  not 
unto  others  what  thou  wouldst  not  have  done  unto 
thyself."  And  this  before  the  Nazarene  was  born.  Give 
me  the  maiden,  Philemon.  Have  peace  and  comfort  for 
thine  old  age. 

PHILEMON.  Nay,  I  cannot.  No  more  of  this,  I  pray. 
I  am  thy  bondsman,  debtor,  yea,  thy  slave.  Do  with  me 
as  thou  wilt.  One  boon  I  ask.  Give  me  a  little  time  to 
set  my  house  in  order.  I  will  not  tarry  long.  And  now 
farwell.  God's  peace  be  with  thee! 

PASHUR.  I  would  have  saved  thee  this.  Peace  and 
farewell!  [PASHUR  goes  out  left.] 


ONESIMUS  51 

PHILEMON.  O  God,  in  the  multitude  of  thy  mercy 
hear  me.  Let  not  the  waterflood  overflow  me,  neither 
let  the  "deep  swallow  me  up,  and  let  not  the  pit  shut  her 
mouth  upon  me.  And  hide  not  thy  face  from  thy  servant, 
for  I  am  in  trouble.  Cast  me  not  off  in  the  time  of  old 
age;  forsake  me  not  when  my  strength  faileth. 

[Enter  APPHIA   quietly  from   back.     PHILEMON 
does  not  see  her,  but  beats  his  breast  in  grief.] 

APPHIA.  [Goes  to  him  and  puts  her  hand  on  his  arm.] 
My  father! 

PHILEMON.  O  daughter,  ruin  hath  come  upon  us. 
Ruin  doth  destroy  our  house,  and  affliction  is  our  portion. 
My  bond  to  Pashur  I  cannot  redeem.  I  shall  be  sold  in 
slavery.  O  Apphia,  Apphia,  my  daughter,  that  thou 
shouldst  beg  thy  bread  from  strangers. 

APPHIA.  Yet  have  I  not  seen  the  righteous  forsaken, 
nor  his  seed  begging  bread. 

PHILEMON.  There  is  no  time  for  our  deliverance. 
Today  are  we  undone.  Tonight  the  stars  will  look  on 
me  in  bondage. 

APPHIA.  God  will  deliver  us.  Did  he  not  lead  our 
fathers  through  the  flood?  Did  he  not  stay  the  sun  over 
Gibeon?  Did  he  not  save  Daniel  from  the  lion's  jaw, 
and  David  from  the  giant's  spear?  And  surely  he  will 
rescue  us.  Have  courage,  O  my  father! 

PHILEMON.  Thou  hast  a  strange,  calm  faith,  my 
daughter.  Yet  am  I  filled  with  bitterness.  It  is  for  thee 
I  fear.  Since  Miriam,  thy  mother,  fell  asleep,  thou  hast 
been  my  only  consolation.  Now  art  thou  left  with  no 
defense,  with  none  to  help  or  comfort. 

APPHIA.  Fear  not  for  me,  for  I  can  make  fine  linen, 
or  glean  among  the  sheaves,  if  there  be  need,  like  Ruth. 

ARCHIPPUS.  [Enters  from  right  and  makes  obeisance.] 
Master,  I  have  spoken  with  the  brethren,  Rufus,  Appeles, 
Gaius,  and  the  rest,  who  gather  on  the  Lord's  day  in  our 
house.  And  Nymphas  from  the  Laodicean  church  sends 
love  and  greetings.  Each  offereth  all  he  hath.  Alas, 


52  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

from  all  the  sum  is  scarce  a  talent.  They  are  rich  in  love, 
but  poor  in  goods. 

PHILEMON.  God  bless  them  for  the  gift  of  love. 
Good  Archippus,  thy  striving  hath  been  in  vain.  Faith 
fully  hast  thou  served  me.  I  owe  thee  much  in  substance 
and  in  love.  Yet  I  must  add  to  the  great  debt  I  owe  thee. 
Behold  Apphia.  Be  to  her  a  brother  in  the  flesh,  as  thou 
art  in  the  spirit.  Let  her  not  want  for  bread.  My  heart 
is  wormwood,  and  my  throat  is  parched.  [Brokenly.] 
Speech  faileth  me. 

ARCHIPPUS.  O  master,  sorrow  fills  me.  How  can  I 
see  the  stranger  take  thy  house  and  lands,  thy  fields  and 
vineyards  and  thy  pleasant  groves? 

PHILEMON.     God  hath  ordained  it. 

APPHIA.  God  will  deliver  us,  in  a  way  ye  know  not  of. 
What  said  Paul?  Watch  ye,  stand  fast  in  the  faith,  quit 
you  like  men,  be  strong. 

PHILEMON.  I  will  visit  the  brethren  and  receive  their 
blessing,  and  give  them  thanks  for  what  they  would  have 
given.  Come  with  me,  good  Archippus,  for  I  am  un 
steady.  Affliction  hath  made  me  very  old.  God  bless 
thee,  daughter,  for  thy  faith.  Farewell!  [PHILEMON 
and  ARCHIPPUS  go  out  right.] 

APPHIA.     Farewell,  my  father,  and  be  strong. 

PASHUR.  [Enters  from  left,  and  looks  about.}  I  seek 
thy  father.  [He  turns  to  go.} 

APPHIA.  Nay,  tarry  here  awhile.  I  have  somewhat 
to  say  unto  thee. 

PASHUR.     Thy  words  are  music  to  mine  ears  and  heart. 

APPHIA.  My  father  is  in  thy  debt.  He  cannot  pay, 
according  to  the  covenant.  [PASHUR  bows.]  It  lieth  in 
thy  power  to  despoil  him  utterly.  Thou  wilt  forgive  the 
debt,  if  thou  canst  take  me  for  thy  wife.  [PASHUR  starts 
in  surprise.]  Nay,  dissemble  not.  I  heard  thee  say  it. 

PASHUR.  Apphia,  hear  my  words.  Naught  separates 
thy  father's  fields  from  mine,  save  landmarks.  I  am  rich 
in  lands  and  cattle,  corn  and  oil.  Thou  mayest  be  as  a 
queen  within  my  house,  my  only  spouse  forever. 


ONESIMUS  53 

APPHIA.     Thou  hast  great  possessions,  not  true  riches. 

PASHUR.  I  am  of  ancient  lineage,  a  grandson  of 
Gamaliel,  practised  in  all  the  arts  and  in  the  learning 
of  our  schools. 

APPHIA.     There  is  a  wisdom  thou  hast  not  found. 

PASHUR.  [Pleading.]  And,  Apphia,  I  have  loved 
thee  from  the  time  that  we,  as  children,  played  together. 
If  thou  come  not,  no  other  ever  shall.  My  hearth  shall 
be  forever  desolate. 

APPHIA.  [Moved.]  Stay!  No  more.  Thou  wouldst 
buy  me  for  a  thousand  talents.  Were  not  my  father 
bound  to  thee  in  debt,  I  would  say  nay. 

PASHUR.  O  Apphia,  why  say  nay?  Am  I  not  honor 
able  ?  I  do  not  kill  nor  steal.  I  do  not  bear  false  witness, 
and  I  defraud  no  one.  I  honor  my  father  and  mother. 
I  tithe  and  feed  the  poor.  What  lack  I  yet? 

APPHIA.      The  law  of  love,  self-sacrifice.      [Pause.] 

PASHUR.  [To  himself.]  The  law  of  love,  self-sacri 
fice.  [To  APPHIA.]  Thou  wilt  not  consent? 

APPHIA.  Pashur,  I  do  consent.  Albeit  thou  must 
know  it  is  but  for  my  father's  sake  and  the  love  I  bear 
him. 

PASHUR.     Thy  love  for  him  is  great. 

APPHIA.  There  is  a  greater  love,  that  a  man  lay  down 
his  life  for  his  friends.  [She  turns  to  door,  right.] 

PASHUR.     [To  himself.}     To  lay  down  one's  life! 

APPHIA.  I  see  my  father  coming  in  the  street.  He 
must  not  know  why  we  have  so  agreed.  I  shall  say  that 
I  have  chosen  thee.  Do  thou  keep  silence. 

PASHUR.     [Steps  toward  her.]     O  Apphia! 

APPHIA.  [Raising  her  hand  to  check  him.]  No  more. 
My  father  nears.  Thou  hast  my  promise,  be  content. 
[PASHUR  crosses  to  rear  center.  Enter  PHILEMON  and 
ARCHIPPUS,  right.] 

PHILEMON.  Now,  Pashur,  I  am  ready  to  satisfy  the 
bond.  [Crosses  left,  and  sits.  APPHIA  goes  to  him  and 
puts  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  ] 

ARCHIPPUS.     Noble  Pashur,  thou  are  not  of  our  faith, 


54  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

but  thou  art  honorable.  My  master  is  infirm  and  old. 
It  is  but  a  little  time  till  God  shall  gather  him  unto  his 
fathers.  I  do  beseech  thee,  take  me,  instead  of  him,  to 
be  thy  slave.  I  am  young  and  strong. 

PASHUR.     [In  surprise.  ]    Thou  wouldst  serve  for  him ! 

ARCHIPPUS.  Yea,  gladly  will  I  take  upon  myself  his 
debt.  Take  me.  Oh,  bring  not  his  gray  hairs  in  sorrow 
to  the  grave. 

APPHIA.  Entreat  not  to  make  this  sacrifice,  good 
Archippus.  God  hath  pointed  out  a  way ;  I  have  chosen 
Pashur  for  my  husband.  He  doth  forgive  my  father's 
debt,  and  ruin  will  not  visit  us. 

PILEMON.  [Rises,  starts  in  surprise,  and  speaks 
sternly.]  Nay,  this  cannot  be!  [Sound  of  tumult,  out 
side,  right.  A  trumpet  is  heard.  Voices  cry;  'What  ho!" 
"Lay  hold  of  him!"  "Nay,  stand  back!"  ARCHIPPUS 
goes  out  right,  quickly.  APPHIA  crosses  right  and  looks 
out.} 

PHILEMON.  It  shall  not  be,  I  say.  My  daughter  can 
not  be  unequally  yoked  with  an  unbeliever. 

APPHIA.  Hast  thou  not  promised  I  should  choose? 
Dost  thou,  a  Christian,  fail  to  keep  thy  vow? 

PHILEMON.  [Pleading.}  Daughter,  consider  well. 
Thou  canst  not  choose  this  man. 

APPHIA.     I  have  chosen. 

ARCHIPPUS.  [Rushes  in,  speaking  excitedly.]  O 
master,  master.  It  is  Onesimus! 

PHILEMON.     What  sayest  thou? 

ARCHIPPUS.  Onesimus,  the  slave,  hath  come,  and 
prayeth  that  he  may  speak  to  thee.  [APPHIA  crosses  left, 
and  goes  up  to  her  father.] 

PHILEMON.  Call  the  guard  quickly,  lest  he  escape 
again.  He  must  be  flogged. 

ARCHIPPUS.    [Looking  to  left.]    He  cometh,  even  now. 

[Enter  ONESIMUS.     He  stops  before  PHILEMON, 

and  makes  sign  of  servile  obedience.     This  is 

done  by  placing  the  right  hand  on  the  forehead, 

lips,  and  heart,  then  dropping  on  one  knee,  ex- 


ONESIMUS  55 

tending  hands,  first  forward,  palms  downward, 
then  moving  them  outward  and  backward.] 

ONESIMUS.     Pardon,  master,  pardon! 

PHILEMON.     [In  wrath.}    Base  and  unprofitable  slave! 

ONESIMUS.  Base  and  unprofitable,  yea,  worse,  hating 
the  light,  and4oving  darkness.  Visit  thy  wrath  upon  me. 
But  first,  I  pray,  hear  a  letter  that  I  am  charged  to  read 
to  thee. 

PHILEMON.     Who  sends  me  tidings  by  a  slave? 

ONESIMUS.  Paul,  who  was  Saul  of  Tarsus  once,  but 
now  a  follower  of  the  Nazarene,  thy  brother  and  mine. 

PHILEMON.  Thank  God  for  word  from  Paul!  How 
doth  he  fare?  Where  is  he?  Speak! 

ONESIMUS.  He  is  at  Rome,  a  prisoner  in  chains. 
[Pause.  All  start  and  show  sorrow.}  Command  me, 
master,  now  to  read  the  letter. 

PHILEMON.  Read  straightway,  slave.  [ARCHIPPUS 
sits  again.] 

ONESIMUS.  [Rises,  steps  back,  takes  a  scroll  from  his 
bosom  and  reads.]  "Paul,  a  prisoner  of  Jesus  Christ  and 
Timothy,  our  beloved  brother,  unto  Philemon,  our  dearly 
beloved,  and  fellow  laborer,  and  to  our  beloved  Apphia, 
and  Archippus,  our  fellow  soldier,  and  to  the  church  in 
thy  house:  Grace  to  you,  and  peace  from  God  our 
Father,  and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  I  thank  my  God, 
making  mention  of  thee  always  in  my  prayers,  hearing  of 
thy  love  and  faith,  which  thou  hast  toward  the  Lord 
Jesus,  and  toward  all  the  saints.  I  beseech  thee  for  my 
son  Onesimus,  whom  I  have  begotten  in  my  bonds." 

ARCHIPPUS.  [Interrupting.]  What  saith  he  touching 
Onesimus  ? 

PHILEMON.  Peace,  Archippus,  and  thou,  Onesimus, 
read  on. 

ONESIMUS.  [Continues  reading.]  "Which  in  time 
past  was  to  thee  unprofitable,  but  now  profitable  to  thee 
and  me :  whom  I  would  have  retained  with  me,  that  in 
thy  stead  he  might  have  ministered  unto  me  in  the  bonds 
of  the  gospel :  but  without  thy  mind  would  I  do  nothing, 


56  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

that  thy  benefit  should  not  be  as  it  were  of  necessity,  but 
willingly.  For  perhaps  he  therefore  departed  for  a 
season,  that  thou  shouldst  receive  him  forever;  not  now 
as  a  servant,  but  above  a  servant,  a  brother  beloved, 
specially  to  me,  but  how  much  more  unto  thee,  both  in 
the  flesh,  and  in  the  Lord." 

PHILEMON.  [Rises,  starting  forward.]  Hold,  Onesi- 
mus !  Thou  didst  read,  "a  brother  in  the  Lord."  Doth 
it  so  stand? 

ONESIMUS.     Yea,  master,  I  am  a  Christian. 

PHILEMON.     O  praise  the  Lord,  bless  his  holy  name! 

ARCHIPPUS.     Amen  and  amen! 

PHILEMON.  [Eagerly.]  Speak  on,  Onesimus,  of 
Paul,  and  of  thyself.  How  earnest  thou  to  find  the  Way? 
[PHILEMON  sits  again.] 

ONESIMUS.  Master  and  brethren,  hear  me.  I  served 
in  Rome  as  a  centurion.  I  kept  watch  at  the  prison  gate, 
and  thus  fell  in  with  Paul,  and  heard  his  story:  how  he 
had  erstwhile  persecuted  the  brethren;  how  on  the  way 
to  Damascus,  he  had  seen  the  risen  Lord;  how  he  was 
obedient  unto  the  heavenly  vision ;  how  he  ministered  for 
Christ,  labored  abundantly,  oft  suffered  forty  stripes, 
save  one,  was  beaten  with  rods,  stoned,  suffered  ship 
wreck;  how  he  journeyed  much  in  peril  of  robbers,  of 
his  own  countrymen,  and  of  false  brethren,  in  peril  of 
the  sea  and  wilderness. 

PHILEMON.     God  hath  kept  him  from  falling. 

ONESIMUS.  Many  in  Rome  heard  him  gladly.  Some 
of  the  soldiers  did  forsake  their  sins ;  some  from  the 
palace  came  to  Christ. 

PHILEMON.  The  Master's  teaching  from  the  mouth 
of  Paul  hath  mighty  power. 

ONESIMUS.  The  Master's  spirit  in  Paul's  life  doth 
move  men's  hearts;  thus  mine  was  moved.  His  words 
had  gone  deep  in  my  soul ;  I  was  sore  vexed  and  troubled 
by  my  load.  One  night,  as  I  held  watch  before  the  gate, 
I  heard  Paul  and  the  others  singing  hymns.  And  lo! 
about  the  seventh  hour  a  great  light  shone  about  me :  and 


ONESIMUS  57 

looking  whence  the  light  had  come,  I  saw  King  Jesus! 
Trembling  and  much  afraid,  I  cried,  "Lord,  what  shall 
I  do?"  He  smiled  and  said,  "Onesimus,  follow  me." 
I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  on  my  face,  as  in  a  swoon. 
When  I  arose,  darkness  again  covered  me.  The  great 
light  shone  within. 

PASHUR.     [To  himself.]     The  light  within! 

ONESIM;US.  I  shall  be  his  witness  unto  all  men  of 
what  I  have  seen  and  heard.  Therefore,  do  I  come  to 
make  amends,  to  bow  before  thy  punishment,  to  serve 
thee  faithfully,  as  thy  slave,  forever.  [Makes  profound 
obeisance,  as  before,  and  kneels.] 

PHILEMON.  [Rising,  goes  to  ONESIMUS.]  A  slave  no 
longer!  I  do  set  thee  free.  As  thou  art  free  in  Christ, 
so  art  thou  free  in  body,  Onesimus,  my  brother.  [Em 
braces  ONESIMUS  and  kisses  his  cheek.] 

ONESIMUS.     Even  so,  master,  still  I  serve  thee  gladly. 

PASHUR.  Hearken  ye  all  to  me.  Apphia,  here  is  thy 
father's  bond.  Tear  it  to  pieces.  He  owes  me  naught. 
And  Apphia,  before  God  and  these  witnesses,  I  do  release 
thee  from  thy  promise. 

APPHIA.     Dost  release  me! 

PASHUR.  Yea,  thou  shalt  not  sacrifice  thyself.  My 
love  is  now  so  great  that  I  do  give  thee  up.  Thou  art  free. 

APPHIA.  [Gently,  extending  her  hands  toward  him.] 
Pashur,  good  Pashur ! 

PASHUR.  Nay,  refrain.  I  am  unworthy  to  receive  thy 
thanks.  Thy  blessing  give  me. 

PHILEMON.     What  meaneth  this,  good  Pashur? 

PASHUR.  I  have  chosen  the  way  of  truth.  I — I,  too, 
am  a  Christian. 

PHILEMON.  O  Pashur,  thou  art  a  chosen  vessel  to 
bear  his  name  before  the  Gentiles,  and  kings,  and  the 
children  of  Israel. 

ONESIMUS.     Amen ! 

PASHUR.  I  will  humbly  follow  the  Nazarene  all  my 
days. 


58  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

APPHIA.  [Crossing  to  PASHUR,  takes  his  hand.]  But 
not  alone,  for  I  will  go  with  thee. 

PHILEMON.  Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart 
in  peace,  according  to  thy  word. 

ONESIMUS.  Nay,  not  yet.  Children's  children  are  the 
crown  of  old  men;  and  the  glory  of  children  are  fathers. 

APPHIA.  Set  me  as  a  seal  upon  thine  heart,  as  a  seal 
upon  thine  arm :  for  love  is  strong  as  death. 

PASHUR.  Many  waters  cannot  quench  love,  neither 
can  the  floods  drown  it. 

ONESIMUS.  Hear  ye  Paul's  closing  words;  he  doth 
send  his  benediction.  [The  others  bow  their  heads  as 
ONESIMUS,  with  outstretched  hand,  reads.]  "The  grace 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  be  with  your  spirits.  Amen." 


THE  CURTAIN   FALLS  SLOWLY 


THE  BARGAIN 

A    TRAGICOMEDY 


CHARACTERS 

MRS.  PRINGLE    +/i>  MRS.  RELLING 

MRS.  CARVEL    ys'  REV.  MR.  MOREHOUSE 

The  action  takes  place  in  the  Pringle  home,  in  a  small 
town  in  California. 


THE  BARGAIN 

A  TRAGICOMEDY 

A  simply  furnished  living  room.  There  is  a  table  in  center, 
various  chairs,  etc.  As  curtain  rises,  MRS.  PRINGLE 
is  disclosed,  dusting  the  room,  and  setting  things  to 
rights.  She  is  a  woman  of  forty,  thin  and  angular, 
hair  slightly  gray.  She  has  arched  eyebrows,  which 
give  her  an  air  of  constant  expectancy,  and  her  whole 
expression  is  one  of  keen  curiosity.  She  is  plainly 
dressed. 

Knock  at  door,  right.  She  steps  to  door,  left,  and  throws 
out  the  dust  cloth  and  feather  duster,  then  goes  to 
door  right,  and  admits  MRS.  CARVEL.  The  latter  is 
a  woman  between  fifty  and  fifty-five.  She  is 
ordinary  looking,  stout,  and  with  a  melancholy  ex 
pression.  Like  MRS.  PRINGLE,  she  is  of  the  middle 
class.  She  carries  a  plate  of  cookies  in  her  hand. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  for  pity's  sake !  Come  in,  Mrs. 
Carvel.  I  was  just  wishing  someone  would  come.  I 
haven't  seen  a  soul  to  speak  to  since  Jim  left,  at  six 
this  morning.  And  here  you  are,  bringing  me  cookies 
again.  [Takes  the  plate.]  Come,  sit  down!  [As  MRS. 
CARVEL  is  about  to  taka  chair,  right.]  No,  take  this  chair. 
[Indicating  rocker,  back  of  table.]  It  will  fit  you  better. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Seats  herself  as  directed.]  Well,  I've 
been  trying  to  get  over  for  some  time,  but  something 

61 


62  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

always  prevents.  I  made  cookies  this  morning,  and 
planned  right  then  to  bring  you  some.  I  hope  you  like  'em. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [W ho  has  been  eating  one.]  They 
are  just  fine !  It  is  so  good  to  have  something  now  and 
then  that  you  don't  make  yourself.  But  goodness !  This 
is  twice  you  have  brought  me  things,  since  I  took  you  over 
anything. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  No,  you  brought  me  something  last. 
Don't  you  remember  the  raised  doughnuts? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Was  that  after  you  brought  over  the 
fig  cake?  [Seats  herself,  left.] 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Yes,  it  was  the  day  before  the  girls  came. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  I  guess  you  are  right.  Well,  I  like 
to  be  neighborly,  and  I  like  to  live  near  people  who  feel 
the  same  way. 

MRS.  CARVEL.     Yes,  that  is  right. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  But  it  ain't  in  some  people.  Now 
there's  Jim — a  good  man  and  a  good  provider.  I'll  be 
taking  something  across  the  street,  and  he'll  say,  "You 
are  always  giving  things  out,  and  nobody  sends  anything 
in  to  you."  But  I  says  to  him,  "If  we  do  our  part,  others 
will  do  theirs,  and  we  won't  get  the  worst  of  it." 

MRS.  CARVEL.  I  appreciate  a  good  neighbor.  I  don't 
know  what  I  would  have  done  this  last  year,  if  I  hadn't 
lived  next  door  to  you.  You've  been  a  friend  I  could 
come  to  and  talk  things  over  with. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Yes,  to  be  sure.  I  suppose  you  are 
pretty  lonesome  now,  since  the  girls  left. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Well,  not  that,  exactly.  I  was  glad  to 
have  them  come,  and  I'm  glad  they  are  gone.  We  get 
on  together,  all  right,  of  course;  but  I  didn't  see  them 
much,  when  we  lived  in  the  same  town.  They  don't 
understand  things  here.  I  couldn't  talk  to  them  as  I  do 
to  you. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Severely.]  Well,  you  need  someone 
to  talk  straight  to  you.  You  are  not  looking  well  at  all. 


THE   BARGAIN  63 

You've  been  all  worn  out  and  run  down,  since  the  funeral. 
It's  all  over  now,  and  you  ought  to  chirk  up,  and  enjoy 
life. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  But  there  are  so 
many  things  to  look  after. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  As  I  said  to  Jim,  you  have  no  license 
to  be  in  the  dumps.  We're  right  glad  the  old  man  left 
everything  to  you.  How  much  will  it  be? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Twenty  thousand  dollars.  Maybe  a 
thousand  or  two  more.  We  can't  tell  exactly,  until  the 
estate  is  all  settled. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Twenty  thousand!  Some  folks  said 
it  might  be  forty  thousand,  the  old  man  pared  things  so 
close.  Well,  twenty  thousand  is  as  much  as  anyone  needs. 
You  can  have  everything  you  want  now,  and  no  worry. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Dejectedly.]  There's  always  some 
thing  to  worry  about. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Why  should  you  worry,  with  all  that 
money?  But  it's  a  bit  strange  that  your  uncle  didn't 
remember  anyone  else?  Now  there's  your  cousin,  Mrs. 
Relling.  She  did  lots  for  him.  Do  you  know  I  am 
wondering  how  she  feels  about  the  old  man  leaving  all 
his  property  to  you.  And  the  Rellings  are  hard  up,  too. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Do  you  think  she  expected  to  get  some 
thing? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Of  course  she  did.  Didn't  she  go 
over  to  see  the  old  man  once  or  twice  every  week,  that  is, 
when  she  could  get  away? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  She  came  sometimes,  so  I  could  go  up 
town. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  But  didn't  she  take  him  jam  and  cake 
and  such  things  ?  And  didn't  she  read  to  him,  too  ?  And 
her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Piver,  told  me  that  Mrs.  Relling 
was  to  get  half.  Jim  always  said  it  was  nip  and  tuck  as 
to  which  of  you  would  get  the  most  out  of  the  old  man. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Well,  Ida  might  have  made  a  deal  with 
uncle  to  take  the  place.  She  had  the  chance. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     But  she  had  a  sick  husband  to  lock 


64  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

after.  No  doubt  she  figured  on  the  old  man  dividing 
things  up  a  bit.  It  must  have  been  a  hard  blow  to  her. 
And  there's  that  other  niece,  who  took  care  of  him  before 
you  came. 

MRS.  CARVEL.     Cousin  Minnie,  you  mean. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Yes.  Couldn't  they  make  a  claim  for 
taking  care  of  him?  Could  they  break  the  will? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  No,  indeed.  You  see — well,  I  might 
as  well  tell  you  just  how  it  came  about.  But  you  mustn't 
mention  it.  I  don't  want  people  to  talk  about  it.  Uncle 
had  everything  made  over  to  me,  before  he  died — made 
over  in  trust,  they  call  it. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  But  there  was  a  will.  I  saw  it  in  the 
paper. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Yes,  but  tlie  will  didn't  count.  It 
didn't  mean  anything. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     Then  why  did  he  make  it? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  He  wanted  people  to  think  he  left  the 
property  by  will. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  For  pity's  sake!  I  don't  understand 
it  at  all.  What's  at  the  bottom  of  it,  anyway? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Well,  you  know,  when  I  came  west, 
just  after  uncle  had  got  back  from  the  Old  People's 
Home — 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Interrupting.]  Mighty  sick  of  it,  he 
was,  too.  He  told  me  he  would  rather  go  to  the  poor- 
house,  than  give  that  crowd  his  money. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Yes,  six  months  was  enough,  there. 
Cousin  Ida — Mrs.  Relling,  you  know — couldn't  take  care 
of  him,  and  he'd  had  an  awful  row  with  Cousin  Minnie. 
So  he  sent  for  me.  I  was  willing  to  stay  with  him  till 
he  died,  and  I  told  him  so;  [Emphatically.]  but  I  was  to 
have  all  the  property. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     But  what  about  the  will  business? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  You  will  see  in  a  minute.  Uncle  was 
willing  to  give  me  half  of  the  property.  I  said  no.  It 
would  be  all  or  nothing  for  me. 


THE   BARGAIN  65 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Why  not  all?  He  had  no  children. 
He  had  to  leave  it  to  some  one. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  You  know  how  close  he  was  in  every 
thing.  Well,  he  offered  me  two-thirds.  I  made  arange- 
ments  to  go  back  to  Iowa  the  next  day. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     But  you  didn't  go. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  He  finally  gave  in,  and  said  he  would 
call  a  lawyer  to  have  the  will  made,  leaving  me  everything. 
I  had  been  thinking  it  over,  too,  and  I  saw  a  lawyer  about 
it.  My  lawyer  said  that  uncle  might  change  the  will 
at  any  time,  leaving  me  out.  So  I  insisted  -that  the 
property  be  left  so  I  would  be  sure  to  get  it. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     Well,  for  pity's  sake ! 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Then  we  had  to  start  all  over  again. 
He  said  he  wouldn't  put  the  property  out  of  his  name, 
while  he  lived,  for  anyone.  He  would  go  back  to  the 
Old  People's  Home,  first.  I  said,  all  right,  and  began 
to  pack  up  my  things.  Then  he  coaxed,  and  he  promised, 
and  he  abused  me — what  a  fight  it  was — right  up  to  train 
time.  But  I  had  my  mind  made  up.  He  had  to  come  to 
my  terms,  and  we  made  the  bargain. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  I  wouldn't  have  believed  the  old  man 
would  make  that  bargain  with  anyone. 

MRS.  CARWEL.  What  else  could  he  do?  Ida  couldn't 
come,  and  Minnie  wouldn't.  He  didn't  know  my  sisters, 
and  he  was  afraid  of  strangers. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  when  you  had  it  fixed  as  you 
wanted  it,  why  did  he  make  a  will? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  He  wanted  people  to  think  that  he 
controlled  the  property  till  he  died.  He  was  sensitive 
about  it,  and  the  will  saved  his  pride.  So  don't  speak 
of  what  I've  told  you — for  uncle's  sake,  you  know. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  I  guess  he  didn't  want  people  to  know 
that  you  got  the  upper  hand  of  him. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Nettled.]  It  wasn't  a  matter  of  any 
one  having  the  upper  hand.  I  was  willing  to  do  my  part, 
and  I  had  a  right  to  know  that  he  would  do  his. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     But  you  had  the  advantage,  just 'the 


66  SIX  SHORT  PLAYS 

same.  You  could  back  out,  if  you  got  sick  of  the  bargain, 
but  he  couldn't. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Stiffly.]  You  think  it  wasn't  a  fair 
bargain  ? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Fair  enough.  Of  course  it  was  fair. 
But  after  all,  you  had  the  best  of  it. 

MRS.  CARVEL.     What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Pringle? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  I  mean  you  got  your  money  pretty 
easy.  Now  isn't  that  true?  You  got  twenty  thousand 
dollars  for  a  year's  work — less  than  a  year,  wasn't  it? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  A  year,  lacking  six  days.  But  look  at 
the  chances  I  took !  The  doctor  told  me  that  uncle  might 
live  ten  years  longer.  It  wouldn't  have  been  much  pay 
for  a  ten-year  job. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  But  it  was  a  lot  of  money  for  one 
year. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  And  then  suppose  I  had  died  before 
he  did?  I  took  that  chance,  too. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Oh,  it  was  fair  enough.  I  only  meant, 
as  it  turned  out,  you  got  the  best  of  it. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  And  the  way  I  had  to  fight  with  him 
over  expenses !  I  said  once,  "We  are  going  to  have  what 
we  want  to  eat,  and  if  the  bills  are  high,  I  am  the  only 
one  who  will  lose  by  it."  He  never  said  a  word  about 
expenses,  after  that. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  he  was  the  closest  man  I  ever 
knew.  After  his  wife  died,  before  he  had  anyone  with 
him,  I  used  to  take  him  over  things  to  eat,  sometimes. 
He  would  always  say,  "Thank  you,  Mrs.  Pringle."  But 
do  you  suppose  he  ever  offered  me  anything?  Not  he. 
When  the  black  cherries  were  ripe,  I  thought  sure  he 
would  give  me  some.  So  I  took  him  over  a  nice  berry 
pie.  "Thank  you,  Mrs.  Pringle,"  says  he.  "You  are 
going  to  have  lots  of  fine  cherries,"  says  I.  "Yes,"  says 
he,  "unless  the  birds  get  'em !"  Now  how  could  anyone 
be  neighborly  with  a  man  like  that? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  I  had  to  put  up  with  it.  Well,  I'm 
glad  I  did  my  part.  I  looked  after  everything,  mended 


THE    BARGAIN  67 

his  clothes,  cooked  the  meals — and  you  know  how  in 
convenient  that  kitchen  is. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  You've  got  the  gas  stove  in  now,  I 
suppose. 

MRS.  CARVEL.     No — not  yet. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  for  pity's  sake!  And  you  al 
ways  saying  if  you  owned  the  place,  you  wouldn't  go  two 
days  without  fixing  up  that  kitchen. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  I've  made  no  changes  yet.  I've  had  so 
much  to  think  about. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Oh,  I  forgot — there's  your  trip  to  the 
Islands.  After  your  plans  are  made,  you  have  to  get 
your  clothes  ready. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [ Nervously.  ]  Yes,  yes,  there's  lots 
to  do. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  When  do  you  start?  Have  you  set 
the  date? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  No,  not  exactly.  You  see — -well,  may 
be  I  won't  make  the  trip. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  for  pity's  sake!  You  mean  to 
tell  me  you  are  not  going? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Hastily  correcting  herself,]  I  mean 
not  now.  Perhaps  later — next  year,  maybe. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  And  you  planning  that  trip  for  six 
months !  And  all  the  steamer  folders  and  railroad  time 
tables  you  had !  I  can't  make  it  out.  What's  come  over 
you? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Putting  her  hand  to  her  brow.]  It's 
been  a  strain  on  me,  Mrs.  Pringle.  I  feel  it  worse  now, 
than  I  did  before — before  he  died,  I  mean. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  you  can  forget  it,  now.  You've 
got  your  money,  and  I  guess  you  earned  it,  all  right. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Nervously.]  Yes,  yes,  of  course. 
But  it  keeps  coming  back  to  me.  I  can't  forget  it.  I 
wish  I  could,  but  it  comes  back. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  What  on  earth  do  you  mean?  What 
conies  back  to  you? 

MRS.  CARVEL.     [With  increasing  agitation.]     I  mean 


68  SIX  SHORT  PLAYS 

uncle.  I  think  about  him.  No  matter  what  I'm  doing, 
he  comes  to  my  mind.  I  dreamed  about  him  last  night. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  For  pity's  sake !  But  don't  let  it  get 
on  your  nerves.  Thinking  or  dreaming  either  can't  hurt 
you. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Turning  toward  MRS.  PRINGLE,  and 
lowering  her  -voice.}  Did  I  tell  you  about  uncle  going 
out  to  work  in  the  garden,  the  day  before  he  died? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     No,  what  about  it? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  I  told  him  to  stay  in.  It  was  a  hot 
day,  and  what  could  a  man  of  eighty-six  do  anyway? 
Well,  he  was  stubborn,  as  usual,  and  went  out  with  his 
hoe.  And  it  wasn't  long  before  he  was  all  tired  out,  and 
leaning  on  the  fence,  waiting  for  me  to  come  and  help 
him  in.  And  I  just  thought,  if  he  would  be  so  foolish, 
he  could  get  back  to  the  house  as  best  he  could. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     And  you  didn't  go  to  help  him  in? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  No, — you  see  I  didn't  think  he  ought 
to  be  encouraged  to  do  such  things, — and  how  could  I 
know  that  he  would  pass  away  next  morning? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Eagerly,  anticipating  a  sensation.} 
You  don't  think  that  had  anything  to  do  with  his  death  ? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  I  asked  the  doctor, 
and  he  said,  if  the  work  had  caused  his  death,  he  would 
have  died  in  the  garden. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Relaxing.}  Oh,  well,  why  should 
it  worry  you,  then? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  I  don't  know,  but  it  does.  Every  time 
I  think  of  Uncle — oh,  this  is  so  foolish  of  me! 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     Go  ahead!     What  is  it? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  Whenever  I  think  of  uncle,  I  can  see 
him  leaning  on  the  fence,  looking  toward  the  house,  and 
waiting  for  me  to  come  help  him  in.  [She  shudders 
perceptibly. } 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  if  you  are  not  shivering!  Let 
me  get  you  a  shawl.  It's  not  overwarm  in  the  house. 
[She  gets  a  light  shawl,  and  puts  it  over  MRS.  CARVEL'S 
shoulders.} 


THE    BARGAIN  69 

MRS.  CARVEL.     Thank  you.     It  is  a  bit  cool. 

[Knock  at  door  right.  MRS.  PRINGLE  goes  to 
door.  Enter  MRS.  RELLING.  She  is  a  woman 
of  thirty-seven,  with  kind  face  and  gentle 
manners.  ] 

MRS.   PRINGLE.     Come  right  in,  Mrs.  Relling. 

MRS.  RELLING.  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Pringle.  How  are 
you,  cousin  Kate? 

MRS.  CARVEL.     Pretty  well,  thank  you. 

MRS.  RELLING.  I  just  stepped  in,  Mrs.  Pringle,  to 
remind  you  about  the  old  clothes  you  promised  me. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Critically.]  Well,  I  should  think 
you  had  enough  to  do  for  your  own  family,  without 
making  over  clothes  for  the  foreigners  below  the  tracks. 
The  more  you  do  for  such  people,  the  less  they  do  for 
themselves. 

MRS.  RELLING.  It's  the  children  I  want  to  help. 
They  are  not  to  blame. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  I  spoke  to  Jim,  and  he  said  there  was 
an  old  pair  of  trousers  you  could  have.  He  didn't  say 
which  pair,  but  I'll  find  out  tonight.  Do  sit  down. 
[MRS.  RELLING,  who  has  been  standing,  takes  chair  left, 
between  MRS.  CARVEL  and  MRS.  PRINGLE.  MRS.  PRINGLE 
sits.]  It's  been  a  month  since  I've  heard  any  news  from 
your  part  of  town.  Stop  awhile  with  us.  We're  going 
to  have  some  tea  later  on.  How  are  all  your  folks? 

MRS.  RELLING.  Everything  is  fine  with  us.  You 
know  John  is  about  well  now.  The  doctor  thinks  he  is 
quite  over  the  trouble,  and  says  he  can  go  back  to  work 
the  first  of  the  month.  We  are  all  so  happy. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     Will  he  get  his  old  job  back? 

MRS.  RELLING.  No,  not  now.  He  will  get  less  money, 
but  the  work  is  easier.  Archie  has  a  job,  too,  and  he 
earns  enough  to  make  up  the  difference. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     But  school  begins  in  about  a  week. 

MRS.  RELLING.  I  want  him  to  stop  then,  but  fte  says 
no. 


;o  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  He'll  stop  quick  enough,  when  school 
begins.  Boys  aren't  so  fond  of  work  as  all  that. 

MRS.  RELLING.  He  doesn't  want  me  to  go  out  nursing 
any  more.  But  we  will  get  along  now.  The  worst  is 
over  for  us. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  I  was  saying  to  Mrs.  Carvel  that  it 
wouldn't  have  been  amiss,  if  your  uncle  had  left  you  a 
few  thousand  dollars,  after  all  you  had  done  for  him. 
[Awkward  pause.  MRS.  CARVEL  and  MRS.  RELLING  look 
embarrassed.]  I'm  not  one  to  bring  up  anything  against 
a  person  that's  dead  and  gone.  Not  I.  And  I'm  glad 
Mrs.  Carvel  is  provided  for,  but  what  you  did  should  be 
appreciated,  too. 

MRS.  RELLING.  But  uncle  appreciated  what  I  did. 
I'm  sure  of  that. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     But  you  didn't  get  anything  for  it. 

MRS.  RELLING.  [Smiling.]  I  didn't  get  any  money, 
you  mean,  and  I  didn't  expect  any. 

MRS:  PRINGLE.     [In  astonishment.]     You  didn't! 

MRS.  RELLING.  No.  Uncle  told  me,  when  cousin 
Kate  came,  that  he  planned  to  leave  his  property  to  her, 
and  that  was  right.  Kate  gave  up  all  other  plans,  to 
devote  her  life  to  him.  I  was  glad  for  uncle  to  have 
someone  to  lean  on,  and  I  was  glad  to  have  him  provide 
for  Kate.  I  have  a  husband  and  a  son, — she  has  no  one. 
[Long  pause.  MRS.  CARVEL'S  head  sinks  lower  and 
lower,  during  the  preceding  speech.  MRS.  PRINGLE  gasps, 
and  looks  from  one  to  the  other.] 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     Well,  for  pity's  sake! 

MRS.  RELLING.  Poor  uncle!  He  tried  to  be  just,  I 
am  sure  of  that,  and  he  was  appreciative.  Every  time 
I  would  read  to  him,  he'd  say,  "Makes  me  feel  good,  Ida, 
to  hear  about  the  old  town  again."  And  he  had  a  little 
smile  of  appreciation.  Whenever  I  think  of  him,  I  can 
see  him  smiling,  in  his  old  arm  chair,  and  can  hear  him 
say,  "Makes  me  feel  good,  Ida." 

[MRS.   CARVEL  raises  her  head,  and  presses  her 
hands  to  her  temples  as  though  in  pain.     The 


THE   BARGAIN  7* 

*      others  notice  it.     MRS.  PRINGLE  starts  toward 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Nervously.]  Oh,  my  head!  I  told 
you  I  had  a  headache,  when  I  came  in.  Didn't  I  ? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Now  that's  too  bad.  Maybe  I  better 
get  the  tea  right  now.  That  will  help  you.  [Starts 
toward  door  left.] 

MRS.  CARVEL.  No,  please  don't.  It's  warm  in  the 
room.  [Throws  shawl  back.]  Just  let  me  have  a  sip 
of  water.  [MRS.  PRINGLE  goes  out  left.] 

MRS.  RELLING.  [Goes  over  to  MRS.  CARVEL,  puts  hand 
on  her  cousin's  head,  and  says  gently.]  You  must  take 
care  of  yourself,  Kate,  or  I  shall  have  to  look  after  you, 
as  you  looked  after  uncle. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Shrinking  back  and  speaking  hysteri 
cally.]  Don't!  don't!  [More  quietly.]  I'm  better  now, 
thank  you.  [Enter  MRS.  PRINGLE  with  glass  of  water, 
which  she  gives  MRS.  CARVEL.  ]  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Pringle, 
I'm  all  right  now.  [Knock  at  door,  right.  MRS. 
PRINGLE  goes  to  the  door,  and  admits  the  REV.  MR. 
MOREHOUSE.  ] 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  if  it  ain't  Mr.  Morehouse. 
Come  in,  Pastor. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Pringle, 
and  you,  too,  Mrs.  Carvel.  I  tried  to  call  on  you  before 
coming  here.  How  are  all  your  folks,  Mrs.  Relling? 

MRS.  RELLING.  We're  well,  thank  you.  It's  so  good 
to  have  my  husband  up  again,  and  he's  starting  back  to 
work.  Archie  is  working,  too.  We  have  much  to  be 
thankful  for. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  Well  enough  to  go  to  work,  eh? 
Well,  that's  good.  And  Archie,  too.  That  boy  has  good 
stuff  in  him. 

MRS.  RELLING.  And  he  doesn't  want  to  stop  for 
school.  I  wish  you  would  speak  to  him,  Pastor. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  I  have  talked  with  him,  and  I 
understand  his  viewpoint.  I  tell  you  that  boy  is  seeing 
the  big  things  of  life  at  an  early  age.  I  hope  he  can  keep 


72  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

up  his  school.  But  if  it  comes  to  a  choice,  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  has  not  chosen  the  better  part. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Emphatically.]  I  wouldn't  have  my 
George  stop  school  to  begin  money  grubbing  at  that  age. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  But  my  dear  Mrs.  Pringle,  the 
lesson  of  service, — willing  unselfish  service,  is  worth 
more  than  anything  a  boy  can  get  in  school.  Service  to 
others,  cheerfully  and  kindly  given — that  is  the  Christian 
life.  It  is  that  spirit  that  has  touched  Archie.  It  was 
that  spirit  that  prompted  our  good  friend,  Mrs.  Carvel, 
to  leave  home  and  friends  in  the  east,  and  brought  her 
here  to  brighten  the  last  days  of  a  lonely  old  man.  Truly 
God  blesses  us  when  we .  give,  rather  than  when  we 
receive.  [MRS.  CARVEL,  with  hand  on  her  brow,  lowers 
her  head  over  the  table.] 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Rising.]  We'll  have  tea,  now.  Ex 
cuse  me  a  minute,  please.  [She  goes  out  left.] 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  Well,  Mrs.  Carvel,  how  do  you  like 
California?  After  a  year  with  us,  you  will  never  want 
to  live  anywhere  else. 

MRS.  CARVAL.  I  don't  know.  I  may  go  back.  My 
mind  is  not  made  up. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Entering.]  Tea  will  be  ready  in  a 
minute.  And  we  are  to  have  some  cookies  that  my  good 
neighbor  brought  me. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  How  are  things  at  the  plant,  Mrs. 
Pringle?  Will  the  men  strike? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  They  are  right  bitter,  Jim  says,  and 
can  you  blame  'em?  The  owners  are  millionaires,  and 
the  men  can't  get  living  wages.  Do  you  think  it  is  right, 
Pastor,  for  some  to  be  so  rich,  when  so  many  can't  make 
a  decent  living? 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  Ah,  it's  a  big  problem.  We  must 
strive,  first  of  all,  for  fair  play  for  everyone.  We  must 
do  away  with  the  curse  of  ill-gotten  gains. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  It  doesn't  trouble  some  people  how 
they  get  the  money.  They  enjoy  it  just  the  same. 

REV.    MOREHOUSE,     Don't  be   so   sure  of  that,   Mrs. 


THE   BARGAIN  73 

Pringfe.  No  one  can  profit  by  greed  and  oppression, 
and  escape  punishment,  and  he  who  takes  advantage  of 
the  weak  and  helpless  tortures  his  own  soul. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Moaning  hysterically,  with  head  on 
arms  which  are  outstretched  on  table.]  Oh — Oh!  [She 
rises  unsteadily.  The  others  start  toward  her.  ]  No,  no ! 
It's  my  head,  my  head! 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  My  dear  Mrs.  Carvel,  what  is  the 
matter? 

MRS.  REELING.  [Going  to  her.]  What  is  it,  Kate? 
Try  to  control  yourself. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Mrs. 
Carvel  ? 

MRS.  CARVEL.  No,  it's  my  headache — much  worse — I 
must  go  home. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  The  tea  is  just  ready  now.  A  hot 
drink  will  settle  your  nerves. 

MRS.  REELING.  No,  she  will  be  better  at  home.  I  will 
go  with  her. 

MRS.  CARVEL.  [Still  hysterical.]  No,  I  don't  want 
you  to  go  with  me.  I'll  go  alone.  I'm  always  better 
alone.  I  don't  want  anyone  with  me,  I  say.  [She  goes 
toward  door  right,  accompanied  by  MRS.  REELING.] 

MRS.  REELING.  [Sympathetically.]  Do  take  care  of 
yourself,  Kate.  Take  a  hot  drink,  and  lie  down.  Go 
to  sleep,  if  you  can.  [MRS.  CARVEL  goes  out.  All  re 
sume  their  seats.] 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Well,  for  pity's  sake!  I  never  was 
so  flustered.  A  nervous  headache  is  just  terrible.  Now 
draw  up,  please.  You  mustn't  go  now,  till  you've  had 
a  cup  of  tea.  [She  goes  out  left.] 

MRS.  REELING.  Cousin  Kate  is  not  herself,  at  all.  I 
never  saw  her  in  this  condition  before. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  A  year  of  anxiety  and  care  has 
worn  her  out.  She  ought  to  go  away  on  a  trip.  It  would 
divert  her. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  [Entering  with  the  tea  and  cookies.] 
That's  just  what  I  tell  her,  but  she  doesn't  want  to  go. 


74  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

[Serving  the  tea.]  And  mind  you,  she's  been  keen  to  go 
for  six  months.  She's  looked  up  all  the  routes,  rates, 
and  everything.  Why,  she'd  bring  excursion  pamphlets 
over  to  us,  and  talk  about  her  plans  to  Jim  and  me.  Now 
she's  all  unsettled  about  it. 

MRS.  RELLING.     That's  strange,  isn't  it? 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  She  doesn't  know  her  mind  about  any 
thing.  She  was  fighting  to  get  the  kitchen  fixed  up, 
when  the  old  man  was  living.  Now  she  is  free  to  do  it, 
and  she  won't. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  She  said  something  about  going 
back  east  to  live.  I  was  surprised  at  that,  for  she  put 
her  letter  into  the  church,  only  three  months  ago.  I 
presume  she  wants  to  be  near  her  sisters. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Oh,  she  doesn't  care  anything  about 
her  sisters.  That's  not  it.  She's  unsettled — just  lost 
interest  in  everything. 

MRS.  RELLING.  [Rising.]  Well,  Mrs.  Pringle,  I  must 
be  going.  I  have  two  hungry  people  to  get  dinner  for. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  But  you  don't  have  to  start  dinner 
now.  It's  not  five  yet. 

MRS.  RELLING.  I  want  to  stop  in  and  see  Kate  a  few 
minutes,  before  I  go  home.  I  may  be  able  to  do  some 
thing  for  her.  Poor  cousin !  She's  had  an  unhappy  life. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  And  I  must  go  too,  Mrs.  Pringle. 
I  want  to  make  another  call  in  the  neighborhood. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Oh,  wait  a  bit,  Pastor,  and  speak  to 
Jim.  He  will  be  here,  any  minute  now. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  [Looking  at  his  watch.]  Well,  I 
can  stay  till  five. 

MRS.  RELLING.  Really,  I  mustn't  stop  a  minute  longer. 
Goodbye,  Mrs.  Pringle.  Goodbye,  Pastor.  [She  goes 
out  right.] 

MRS.  PRINGLE  AND  REV.  MOREHOUSE.     Goodbye. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  From  what  I  hear,  I  judge  that 
Mrs.  Carvel  had  a  trying  time,  taking  care  of  her  uncle. 
They  say  the  old  gentleman  was  peculiar. 

MRS.   PRINGLE.     Peculiar!     A  good  deal  worse  than 


THE   BARGAIN  75 

peculiar,  I'd  say,  if  I  allowed  myself  to  bring  up  anything 
about  a  person  that's  dead  and  gone.  Have  some  more 
tea,  Pastor. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  Hard  to  get  along  with,  I'm  told. 
Well,  what  she  did  was  all  the  more  commendable.  It 
is  easy  .for  us  all  to  do  agreeable  things.  I  am  glad  her 
uncle  appreciated  her,  and  left  her  well  provided  for. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Oh,  she's  got  enough,  but  what  good 
will  it  ever  do  her?  Now  if  I  were  rich  like  that,  I'd 
try  to  get  some  good  out  of  it.  I'd  make  a  trip  around 
the  world.  And  I'd  have  an  automobile,  one  of  the  best, 
too,  and  I'd  have  a  servant  to  do  the  work.  Not  that  I 
believe  in  showing  off,  but  those  who  have  money,  should 
spend  it.  Don't  you  think  so,  Pastor? 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.     Of  course — if  spent  wisely. 

MRS.  RELLING.  [Enters  suddenly  in  great  agitation.] 
She  is  dead!  Cousin  Kate  is  dead!  [REV.  MOREHOUSE 
and  MRS.  PRINGLE  start  up.] 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  Oh,  Mrs.  Relling!  What  are  you 
saying ! 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  Dead!  How  did  it  happen? 
What  caused  it? 

MRS.  RELLING.  It  must  have  been  headache  powders. 
She  was  lying  on  the  couch,  and  there  was  the  empty  box 
and  some  water  in  a  glass.  Oh,  this  is  terrible ! 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.  Are  you  sure  she  was  dead?  Did 
you  call  a  doctor? 

MRS.  RELLING.  I  telephoned  at  once,  but  I  fear  she  is 
beyond  help. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.     Oh,  I  am  so  upset! 

MRS.  RELLING.  Poor  Kate!  I  can't  think  of  her  as 
dead. 

REV.  MOREHOUSE.    Think  of  her  as  gone  to  her  reward. 

MRS.  PRINGLE.  And  leaving  all  that  money!  [She 
drops  into  a  chair,  and  the  CURTAIN  falls.] 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES 

A    MORALITY 


CHARACTERS 

RICHARD  HASTINGS,  a  playwright. 

OSCAR         "I 

STEPHEN 

CORDELIA      I  His  friends. 

MADELINE 

AGNES        J 

ROLAND 

EDWARD 

VICTORIA      ^People  of  his  play. 

FIDELIA 

ENID 

The  action  takes  place  New   Year's  Eve,  in  RICHARD 
HASTINGS'  study. 


FIGS   AND   THISTLES 

A   MORALITY 


[VICTORIA,  as  Prologue,  comes  before  the  curtain, 
and  addresses  the  audience.} 

Hearken,  sweet  friends,  our  author  bids  me  say 
A  word  of  greeting — welcome  to  our  play. 
Of  all  the  treasured  folk  that  fill  his  heart, 
Our  author  chooses  Truth  to  play  this  part. 
I  am  the  Prologue,  and  my  part  will  be 
To  sound  the  opening  chord,  to  give  the  key 
Of  what  shall  follow.     Faithfully  the  stage 
Holds  up  the  mirror  to  each  passing  age; 
And  we  may  rightly  judge  the  bygone  years, 
By  knowing  the  applause,  the  smiles  and  tears 
That  cheered  the  actor,  as  he  played  the  part 
That  lighted  up  the  mind,  or  stirred  the  heart. 
For,  in  the  mimic  world  of  joy  and  strife, 
Nothing  is  truth  that  is  not  truth  in  life. 

Likewise,  'tis  true  of  him  who  makes  the  play: 
With  moving  power,  his  creatures  cannot  say 
The  truth  he  doubts,  nor  can  they  ever  see 
The  vision,  which  to  him  is  mockery. 
And  dull  and  unconvincing  is  the  part 
That  has  not  glowed  within  the  author's  heart. 
For  wise  words  are  not  spoken  by  a  fool, 
And  sweet  streams  flow  not  from  a  bitter  pool. 

79 


8o  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

Our  lives  are  what  we  know,  what  we  believe, 
And  we  are  changed  by  what  we  take  and  give. 
Our  very  thoughts — the  thoughts  of  others,  too — 
Are  pleading  voices;  be  they  false  or  true, 
They  are  the  constant  drops  that  wear  the  stone; 
For  no  one  liveth  to  himself,  alone. 

Our  play,  we  trust,  runs  true  to  Nature's  laws, 
And  may  our  players  please  and  win  applause. 

[The  Prologue  bows,  and  with  hand  on  the  curtain, 
pushes  it  aside,  following  it  to  the  left,  as  it  is 
drawn,  bows  again,  and  goes  off,  left.  A  com 
fortably  furnished  room  is  disclosed.  There  is 
a  table  left,  frontf  a  book  case  right,  a  sofa  rear, 
and  various  chairs.  There  is  an  entrance  rear, 
and  one  right.  On  the  walls  are  pictures  of 
Shakespeare,  Moliere,  and  Ibsen.  There  are 
books  and  writing  materials  on  the  table. 
RICHARD  HASTINGS  is  sitting  at  the  table,  facing 
right.  He  takes  up  his  pen,  stretches  his  arms 
and  yawns,  then  puts  his  hand  to  his  head,  as 
though  trying  to  think.  There  is  a  knock  at  rear 
door.] 

RICHARD.     Come  in! 

[Enter  OSCAR,  STEPHEN,  CORDELIA,  MADELINE, 
and  AGNES.  OSCAR  is  fat,  with  coarse,  good- 
natured  expression.  STEPHEN  is  pessimistic 
looking.  CORDELIA  is  plump,  gaily  dressed,  and 
with  a  profusion  of  jewelry.  MADELINE  is 
more  plainly  dressed.  She  has  cat-like  eyes, 
suggesting  shrewdness  and  suspicion.  AGNES 
is  a  vivacious  looking  girl,  much  made  up,  and 
bold  in  dress  and  manner.  All  of  the  characters 
are  about  thirty  years  of  age,  except  AGNES,  who 
appears  to  be  about  twenty.  RICHARD  rises  to 
greet  them.} 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES  81 

OSCAR.     Here  we  are,  Rich,  the  same  old  gang. 

RICHARD.  Glad  to  see  you  all.  [Shaking  hands  with 
them.]  How  are  you,  Oscar?  Bless  you,  Cordy,  how 
are  you? 

CORDELIA.  I'm  just  fine,  thank  you.  We've  come  to 
tell  you  about  a  plan  for  tonight.  We  are  going  to  cele 
brate  New  Year's  Eve  properly.  But  first  of  all,  we 
want  to  congratulate  you  on  your  big  play.  It  was 
simply  wonderful. 

RICHARD.  Not  too  strong,  now.  Put  on  the  soft 
pedal,  Cordy. 

AGNES.  Oh,  the  play  was  just  grand.  We  stood  up, 
and  waved  our  handkerchiefs  at  you.  Didn't  you  see  us  ? 

RICHARD.  Yes,  yes,  mighty  fine  of  you.  [Shaking 
hands  with  the  others.]  How  are  you,  Madeline? 
Thank  you  all  for  the  flowers.  Sorry  I  couldn't  see  you 
last  night,  after  the  play. 

MADELINE.  You  were  such  a  lion  last  night,  no  one 
could  see  much  of  you. 

RICHARD.     How  are  you  tonight,  Steve? 

STEPHEN.     Rotten,  thank  you. 

RICHARD.  Sit  down,  sit  down,  all  of  you.  What  are 
we  all  standing  around  for?  This  is  no  reception. 

[They  all  sit,  CORDELIA  nearest  RICHARD,  on  the 
right.  Next  to  her,  STEPHEN.  AGNES  and 
OSCAR  on  the  sofa,  and  MADELINE  further  to  the 
right.  RICHARD  resumes  his  seat.] 

OSCAR.  Well,  Rich,  how  many  sizes  too  small  did  you 
find  your  hat,  this  morning  ?  Are  you  down  to  earth,  yet  ? 

RICHARD.  Oh,  I  believe  I  am  in  my  right  mind  by 
this  time. 

MADELINE.  It  was  the  biggest  ovation  ever  given  at 
the  Federal  Theatre.  That's  what  the  Times  said. 

RICHARD.  I'm  glad  it  made  a  hit  with  you,  anyway, 
and  I'm  glad  you  dropped  in  tonight,  so  I  can  thank  you 
personally.  Last  night,  you  know,  I  had  to  talk  to  the 
whole  audience.  I  don't  remember  a  blessed  word  I  said. 
But  I  hope  I  didn't  talk  and  look  as  foolish  as  I  felt. 


82  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

Now  tell  me,  did  the  play  deserve  all  that  fuss,  or  is  this 
a  conspiracy  to  make  me  feel  good? 

MADELINE.     Didn't  you  see  the  Times? 

RICHARD.     Yes,  it  was  fine. 

OSCAR.  The  News  certainly  handed  it  to  you,  all  right. 
Seen  it? 

RICHARD.     No,  not  yet.     What  did  it  say? 

OSCAR.  Well,  here  it  is.  Listen  to  this,  all  of  you. 
[Reads  from  newspaper.]  "An  overflow  audience 
cheered  itself  hoarse  over  The  Cost  of  Conquest,  which 
had  its  premier  presentation  at  the  Federal  Theatre,  last 
night.  The  plot  is  well  contrived,  and  seems  inevitably 
to  work  itself  out,  so  sincere  and  compelling  are  the 
motives.  The  characters  are  finely  drawn,  and  true  to 
life.  Rarely  can  the  playwright  invest  his  people  with 
qualities  in  the  abstract,  and  still  make  them  real,  living 
beings.  In  The  Cost  of  Conquest,  this  is  done  as  surely 
as  if  the  piece  were  a  morality,  and  still  the  characters 
are,  throughout,  sincere  and  human."  — And  there's  a 
lot  more.  How  does  it  strike  you,  for  the  conservative 
News? 

AGNES.  Oh,  it's  just  splendid.  No  wonder  your 
friends  are  proud  of  you. 

RICHARD.  You  are  all  dear  and  sweet.  But,  as  my 
friends,  you  can  do  me  a  greater  kindness,  than  by  merely 
praising  my  play. 

CORDELIA.     What  do  you  want  us  to  do,  criticize  it? 

RICHARD.  Exactly.  Tell  me  where  it  is  weak.  I 
know  it  isn't  perfect.  You  have  said  so  many  good 
things  about  it,  now  tell  me  where  it  failed — where  it 
didn't  reach  you. 

STEPHEN.  When  you  get  the  crowd  and  the  news 
papers,  it  doesn't  matter  what  individuals  think.  The 
play  was  a  big  thing,  and  they  all  fell  for  it.  But  as  to 
characters  being  true  to  life,  tell  me  this — why  should 
Victoria  make  that  explanation  about  her  past  life? 

RICHARD.     You  mean,  why  did  she  tell  them  the  facts  ? 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES  83 

'* 

STEPHEN.  That's  just  it.  She  could  have  told 
another  story,  and  no  one  would  have  been  the  wiser. 

OSCAR.  She  must  have  been  one  of  those  who  tell  the 
truth,  when  a  lie  would  do  better.  [They  all  laugh.] 

STEPHEN.  My  point  is,  would  any  woman,  in  real  life, 
tell  what  she  did,  knowing  she  would  get  the  worst  of  it? 

AGNES.  Come  to  think  it  over,  that's  right.  In  real 
life  a  person  has  to  get  by,  in  some  way. 

RICHARD.     I  see  your  point. 

STEPHEN.  And  isn't  Edward's  character  a  bit 
strained?  Why  should  he  give  up  so  much?  Ever  know 
a  real  man  to  do  such  a  thing? 

MADELINE.  I  certainly  never  did.  In  real  life,  peo 
ple  have  to  look  out  for  themselves. 

CORDELIA.  But  in  plays,  people  can't  be  practical. 
They  don't  always  act  as  we  do. 

AGNES.     Perhaps  that  is  why  we  like  to  see  plays. 

MADELINE.  Now  let  me  give  my  comment — no  criti 
cism,  mind  you.  To  my  mind,  Enid  is  altogether  too 
unsophisticated.  You  can't  make  me  believe  that  any 
girl,  of  her  age,  is  so  ignorant  of  the  world.  A  girl  of 
eighteen  knows  what's  what,  all  right. 

RICHARD.  Now  listen  to  me.  I  know  exactly  what 
you  mean,  and  I  am  not  surprised,  either.  I  have  had 
in  mind  the  very  comments  you  have  just  made.  That 
is  why  I  asked  you  to  give  your  viewpoint.  I  have  been 
thinking  for  some  time  that  I  made  the  characters  rather 
idealistic. 

CORDELIA.  But  the  play  couldn't  have  been  better. 
Everyone  went  wild  over  it. 

STEPHEN.  [Drily.]  That's  all  right.  People  like 
fairy  tales,  but  no  one  believes  they  are  true. 

OSCAR.  Well,  it's  a  great  play,  anyway.  You  have 
certainly  arrived,  as  a  playwright,  Rich.  All  you  have 
to  do  now  is  to  write  a  play.  You  needn't  worry  about 
the  rest. 

STEPHEN.     You  can't  be  too  sure  of  that.     Producers 


84  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

are  mighty  fickle,  just  like  audiences.  It's  one  thing 
today,  and  another  thing  tomorrow. 

OSCAR.     Listen  to  the  grouch. 

MADELINE.  Well,  you  can't  depend  on  anything  in 
this  world,  till  you  get  it,  and  then  you  don't  know  how 
long  you  can  keep  it. 

STEPHEN.  How  long  does  it  take  to  get  a  play  like 
that  into  shape,  Rich? 

RICHARD.  Oh,  I  started  that  play — let  me  see — nearly 
two  years  ago.  It  took  some  time  to  get  it  in  shape, 
before  I  had  it  published,  and  it  took  a  longer  time  to 
find  some  one  to  produce  it. 

STEPHEN.     How  is  the  new  one  coming  on? 

AGNES.     A  new  play  ?     Oh,  tell  us  about  it ! 

RICHARD.  There  isn't  much  to  say  about  it,  because 
it's  hardly  begun.  I  have  the  idea  all  blocked  out,  but 
it's  not  going  fast,  at  all.  The  characters  don't  seem  to 
take  hold. 

STEPHEN.     Don't  take  hold?     I  don't  quite  get  that. 

RICHARD.  I  mean  the  characters  won't  talk,  that's  all. 
I  put  them  in  position,  start  them  out,  and  there  they 
stand.  [They  all  smile.]  You  needn't  laugh.  It's  just 
as  I  say.  The  characters  don't  seem  to  have  any  initia 
tive.  I  simply  have  to  push  them  along.  Now  when 
things  are  going  well,  they  take  the  lead,  and  talk  so 
fast  I  can  hardly  keep  up  with  them. 

AGNES.  I  can  write  a  play,  too,  if  all  I  have  to  do  is 
to  take  down  what  the  characters  say. 

RICHARD.  [Smiling.]  Well,  that's  about  all  you  need 
to  do.  But  you  know  they  change  their  minds,  sometimes, 
and  then  their  speeches  have  to  be  revised.  They  are 
like  the  rest  of  us.  Only  when  we  say  something  crude, 
we  can't  always  revise  it. 

CORDELIA.  Do  you  folks  remember  the  New  Year's 
celebration  at  Kruger's,  just  a  year  ago? 

STEPHEN.  I  remember  I  had  a  beastly  headache  the 
next  day. 

MADELINE.     I'll  never  forget  that  night. 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES  85 

AGNES.  [To  RICHARD.]  That  was  when  we  first  met 
you.  We  didn't  know  you  would  be  famous  so  soon. 

RICHARD.  All  the  more  kind  of  you  to  include  me 
in  your  circle. 

OSCAR.  We  know  a  good  thing  when  we  see  it,  Rich, 
even  if  it  does  look  like  a  country  preacher.  I  told  Steve 
you'd  be  a  live  one,  if  you  ever  woke  up.  [All  laugh.] 

MADELINE.  I'll  never  forget  how  the  playwright 
looked,  the  first  time  I  asked  him  for  a  cigarette. 

CORDELIA.  I  can  beat  that.  Once  when  I  was  thirsty, 
I  asked  Rich  to  get  me  a  horse's  neck,  and  he  thought 
it  was  a  meat  order.  [All  laugh  loudly,  RICHARD  joining 
in.] 

RICHARD.     I  was  some  boob,  sure  enough. 

OSCAR.  Well,  Rich,  you  are  a  regular  fellow,  now, 
anyway.  You  take  your  cognac  like  a  gentleman,  play 
a  stiff  hand  of  poker,  and  see  the  sights  without  blushing. 
Now  for  tonight.  We've  got  a  program  that  will  give 
you  a  kick  like  a  mule. 

RICHARE.  Count  me  in,  before  you  go  any  further. 
What  is  it? 

OSCAR.     Well,  when  we  finish  dinner — 

RICHARD.     Dinner?     It's  after  nine,  now. 

OSCAR.  I  know  it  is,  but  we're  doing  a  stunt  tonight 
that  takes  time.  First,  we  went  to  a  cafe  for  soup,  and 
then  to  another,  for  another  course,  and  so  on.  We're 
down  to  dessert,  now,  and  one  more  place  will  finish  it. 

RICHARD.     Well,  what  then? 

CORDELIA.  Then  we  are  all  going  on  a  slumming  tour, 
de  luxe,  the  best  ever. 

STEPHEN.  [Pessimistically.]  We  hope  it  will  be 
good,  still  you  never  know  how  a  thing  will  turn  out. 
But  it's  been  so  beastly  dull,  we  have  to  do  something 
to  get  waked  up. 

CORDELIA.  If  it's  like  the  last  one,  it  will  wal^c  you 
up,  all  right.  Now  for  my  part.  After  the  trip,  you 
are  all  invited  to  my  apartment  for  a  chafing-dish  supper, 
with  some  of  the  good  old  bonded  stuff  to  wash  it  down, 


86  SIX  SHORT  PLAYS 

and  then  a  quiet  little  game.  We'll  give  the  old  year  a 
good  send-off,  and  start  the  new  one  right. 

OSCAR.     Hurrah  for  Cordy! 

MADELINE.     Cordy,  you're  a  peach. 

AGNES.  I  told  mother  I  would  be  home  by  twelve, 
sure.  I  didn't  know  it  was  to  be  an  all-night  spree. 

MADELINE.     Oh,  you  can  fix  it  all  right,  if  you  try. 

AGNES.  I'll  'phone  her  that  I'm  going  to  the  theatre 
with  some  friends,  and  will  stay  all  night  with  one  of  the 
girls.  I'll  'phone  my  friend,  too,  and  put  her  wise,  so 
as  to  be  safe.  Goodness!  I  forgot  to  bring  a  veil. 
Will  I  need  one? 

MADELINE.  [Emphatically.]  I  should  say  you  would. 
All  ladies  go  veiled  on  such  trips.  I'll  lend  you  one. 

OSCAR.  If  it's  as  strong  as  our  last  trip,  I'll  take  a 
veil,  too.  [All  laugh.] 

STEPHEN.  [Pessimistically.  ]  I'm  always  afraid  of 
smallpox,  or  something  like  that,  on  these  jaunts. 

OSCAR.  Oh,  you  are  always  taking  the  joy  out  of  life. 
How  do  you  get  that  way,  Steve? 

RICHARD.  I'll  have  to  do  some  planning,  too.  I  prom 
ised  Aunt  Charlotte  to  breakfast  with  her  in  the  morning, 
and  then  go  to  church  with  her. 

OSCAR.     Go  to  church?     Good  night! 

MADELINE.  Don't  comment,  Oscar,  on  a  subject  you 
know  nothing  about. 

OSCAR.     Oh,  I  know  about  going  to  church. 

STEPHEN.     Who's  been  telling  you  about  it? 

OSCAR.  I'm  serious.  It's  a  great  thing — if  you  are 
troubled  with  insomnia. 

RICHARD.  I'll  send  my  aunt  word  that  I  can't  come. 
I'm  glad  to  have  an  excuse  to  get  out  of  it.  The  poor 
old  soul  doesn't  know  how  deadly  dull  it  is  in  that  house. 
I  don't  see  how  I  stood  it,  when  I  lived  there. 

STEPHEN.  [Rising.]  Come  on,  girls.  Come  on, 
Oscar.  You  come  and  have  coffee  with  us,  Rich,  and 
then  we're  off.  [They  all  rise.  All  but  RICHARD  move 
toward  door,  rear.] 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES  87 

•* 

RICHARD.  You  go  on,  and  finish  your  dinner,  and  call 
for  me  afterward.  I  want  to  get  this  play  going,  if 
possible.  I'll  expect  you  back,  soon.  Remember  now, 
you're  down  to  dessert.  Don't  start  all  over  again.  Glad 
you  dropped  in.  Goodbye,  all. 

OSCAR.  Hope  you  get  a  million-dollar  idea,  Rich, 
while  we  are  gone.  We'll  be  back  in  no  time. 

[They  all  go  out,  rear,  and  there  are  cries  of 
"Goodbye,"  "So  long,  Rich,"  and  "Ta-ta"  as 
they  pass  through  the  door.  RICHARD  returns 
to  his  seat,  picks  up  a  sheet  of  manuscript,  and 
stares  at  it,  takes  up  his  pen,  puts  it  down  again, 
and  leans  back  in  his  chair.  He  stretches  his 
arms,  yawns,  puts  his  head  back,  starts  up  again, 
and  again  relaxes.  He  is  soon  asleep.  The 
lights  grow  dim  and  dimmer,  until  the  room  is 
dark.  Immediately,  the  room  begins  to  grow 
light  again.  RICHARD  is  still  sleeping.  At  his 
right  and  front,  stand  FIDELIA,  EDWARD,  ENID, 
ROLAND,  and  VICTORIA.  All  are  in  costume  of 
medieval  times.  ROLAND  is  garbed  like  a  knight; 
EDWARD,  like  a  scholar;  VICTORIA  is  in  white; 
FIDELIA,  in  blue;  ENID,  in  gray.  All  have  a 
serious  mien,  and  regard  RICHARD  sadly.] 
ROLAND.  [In  a  commanding  tone.  ]  Wake  up,  Richard 
Hastings ! 

RICHARD.  [Springs  up,  startled.  He  puts  his  hand 
to  his  brow.]  You — you — oh!  This  is  as  I  saw  you 
last  night! 

ROLAND.  Rouse  yourself,  Richard  Hastings !  You 
have  been  asleep  too  long. 

RICHARD.  [Fervently.]  The  play!  You  are  the 
people  of  my  play ! 

EDWARD.     And  we  have  come  to  say  goodbye. 
RICHARD.     [Puzzled.]     To  say  goodbye? 
EDWARD.     Yes,  we  are  strangers  to  you  now.     • 
RICHARD.     [Still  puzzled.]     Strangers? 
EDWARD.     Yes,  that  is  why  we  are  leaving  you. 


88  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

RICHARD.  [Smiling  incredulously.]  But  you  cannot 
leave  me.  It  is  impossible.  You  are  all  characters  in 
my  play.  You,  Victoria,  are  my  heroine. 

VICTORIA.  You  called  me  Victoria,  but  names  mean 
nothing.  Truth  is  what  I  stood  for  in  your  play,  and, 
as  such,  I  leave  you. 

RICHARD.     Why  do  you  wish  to  go?     [He  sits  again.] 

VICTORIA.  I  do  not  wish  to  go.  I  have  no  choice. 
You  have  disowned  me. 

RICHARD.     Why  do  you  say  I  have  disowned  you? 

VICTORIA.  There  is  no  home  for  me  within  your  mind, 
and  in  the  chambers  of  your  heart  deceit  and  subterfuge 
have  taken  my  place. 

RICHARD.  Very  well.  If  you  go,  I  will  create  another 
character  to  take  your  place. 

VICTORIA.    You  cannot  create  another  to  take  my  place. 

RICHARD.  Go,  then,  if  you  think  that.  [To  ROLAND.] 
But  you,  Roland — you  will  not  go. 

ROLAND.  I  played  the  part  of  Courage,  fearlessly.  I 
was  brave  and  true.  I  championed  the  weak,  and  fought 
craven  foes.  I  braved  every  peril  for  right  and  justice. 
But  I  can  serve  you  no  longer. 

RICHARD.     Why  should  you  not  act  for  me  again? 

ROLAND.  I  cannot.  There  is  no  cause  or  purpose  in 
your  heart  that  calls  me  now.  Where  are  my  comrades, 
who  once  with  me  lived  in  your  fancy? 

RICHARD.     Whom  do  you  mean? 

ROLAND.  Where  is  high  Honor?  Where  is  calm 
Justice?  Where  is  young  Chivalry?  They  were  the 
brave  companions  who  tenanted  your  heart  with  me. 
Now  they  are  gone,  and  in  their  places,  like  honored 
guests,  Compromise  and  Complacency  are  found.  These 
will  serve  you  readily  enough. 

RICHARD.  Compromise?  Complacency?  Are  they 
such  evils? 

ROLAND.  They  dull  the  edge  of  every  virtue,  and 
welcome  every  vice. 

RICHARD.     How  can  you  say  I  welcome  every  vice? 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES  89 

••* 

ROLAND.  [Severely.]  Look  within,  and  find  the  an 
swer.  What  are  the  things  most  welcome  to  your  heart  ? 

RICHARD.  [Rising,  nettled.]  Go,  then!  I  can  re 
place  you. 

EDWARD.  And  I  go,  too.  In  your  great  play  I  took 
the  part  of  Sacrifice.  Never  again,  I  fear,  will  you  need 
me.  I  take  my  leave,  sorrowfully. 

RICHARD.  You  played  your  part  so  earnestly  that  I 
would  have  you  play  again.  Why  should  you  go  ? 

EDWARD.  You  have  lost  my  spirit.  I  cannot  serve 
where  I  am  unknown. 

RICHARD.     I  know  you  well.     You  are  Edward. 

EDWARD.  You  know  only  my  name.  Listen.  I  was 
once  among  those  held  dear  to  you.  You  loved  me,  and 
in  your  life  I  was  a  living  thing.  You  denied  yourself, 
and  gave  yourself  unsparingly  to  make  something  great 
and  beautiful. 

RICHARD.  [Enthused.]  Something  great  and  beauti 
ful  !  Yes,  my  play !  Day  and  night  I  gave  to  it. 

EDWARD.  True,  you  labored  hard,  but  I  gave  the 
victory.  It  was  I  who  taught  you  "to  scorn  delights, 
and  live  laborious  days." 

RICHARD.  [Musing.]  To  scorn  delights,  and  live 
laborious  days.  Yes,  I  remember;  but  I  tired  of  labor. 
I  longed  for  the  delights.  I  have  had  many  pleasures. 

EDWARD.  Pleasures,  yes,  but  not  happiness.  What 
have  your  pleasures  brought  you  ?  Emptiness  and  weari 
ness  !  Losing  me,  you  lost  your  zest  for  work.  You 
lost  inspiration.  Without  me,  you  will  win  no  victory, 
enjoy  no  happiness. 

RICHARD.     How  can  you  bring  happiness? 

EDWARD.  Because  I  answer  every  call  of  duty,  and 
make  its  accomplishment  a  joy. 

RICHARD.  [Subdued  but  anxious.]  No  victory?  No 
happiness  ? 

ENID.  As  Modesty,  I  enhanced  the  charm  and* worth 
of  all  your  women.  I  was  the  first  to  be  repulsed,  but 
I  have  lingered,  hoping  to  be  recalled  to  serve  you.  For 


90  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

I  would  add  myself  to  every  woman.  No  daughter  of 
the  earth  will  ever  wear  a  richer  jewel.  And  I  would 
move  all  men  to  true  humility. 

RICHARD.  Then,  Enid,  you  will  stay,  and  grace  my 
women. 

ENID.  But  you  are  pleased  with  what  is  coarse  and 
bold.  You  smile  on  ostentatious  show  and  vanity.  I 
cannot  live  in  such  an  atmosphere.  Your  women  make 
me  blush  to  know  there  are  such  women.  The  noise  and 
glamour  of  your  life  have  frightened  my  companions. 

RICHARD.  Frightened  them?  How  can  that  be? 
Who  are  your  companions  ? 

ENID.  Simplicity,  Gentleness,  Quiet,  and  all  who  make 
for  Peace  and  Sacredness. 

RICHARD.  [Eagerly.]  And  you  will  stay,  if  I  sum 
mon  these?  Oh,  tell  me  where  to  find  them. 

ENID.  They  live  with  Virtue,  in  the  quiet  places. 
They  are  as  violets,  fragrant,  but  unseen  by  him  who 
reaches  for  the  flaunting  hollyhock. 

RICHARD.     Oh,  do  not  leave  me! 

ENID.  I  would  that  I  might  stay.  Sadly,  I  say  fare 
well. 

FIDELIA.  I  cannot  stay  longer  with  you,  because  you 
have  denied  me.  I  am  Faith,  known  as  Fidelia  in  your 
play.  Once  you  walked  by  me.  I  was  your  shield,  and 
through  me  you  laid  hold  of  things  unseen.  Then  you 
believed  in  God,  in  God's  children,  and  in  all  things  good. 
But  Doubt  came  to  your  mind,  and  you  no  longer  saw 
God's  hand  and  finger.  No  longer  did  you  trust  man's 
honor  and  woman's  virtue.  You  banished  my  co-worker, 
Reverence,  and  scoffed  at  all  things  high  and  holy. 

RICHARD.  [Agitated.]  I  have  not  fallen  so  low.  No, 
no  !  How  can  it  be  ? 

FIDELIA.  Your  ideals  have  fallen,  and  no  one  can 
reach  beyond  the  ideal  he  strives  for.  You  have  lost 
the  vision  of  noble  achievement. 

RICHARD.  [Vehemently.}  But  I  must  achieve!  I 
must  I  Give  me  thr.  vision  again  \ 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES  91 

FIDELIA.  How  can  I?  When  I  have  tried  to  creep 
into  your  mind,  I  find  all  strange.  And  of  the  things  so 
dear  to  me  your  heart  is  empty,  swept  and  garnished. 

RICHARD.  Alas !  The  things  I  could  not  see,  nor  hear, 
grew  dim  and  dimmer,  till  they  vanished. 

FIDELIA.  But  I  had  filled  your  soul  with  sweet  and 
wondrous  things  that  do  not  hit  the  senses.  You  doubted, 
then  denied,  and  then  the  spirit  world  was  closed  forever 
to  you. 

RICHARD.  Forever  closed!  [Resolutely.]  No,  no! 
You  shall  not  go  !  You  cannot.  [  Takes  a  book  from  the 
table,  and  rapidly  turns  the  pages.  ]  Look !  here  you  are ! 
Roland,  Edward,  Victoria,  Fidelia,  Enid.  [Clasps  the 
book  to  his  bosom,  and  speaks  triumphantly.]  I  have 
you  all !  You  cannot  leave !  You  are  mine,  for  I  created 
you. 

VICTORIA.  You  summoned  us  to  serve,  but  you  did  not 
create  us.  We  are  as  old  as  Time,  and  we  shall  live  until 
Time's  book  is  closed,  for  we  are  deathless.  You  gave 
us  names;  but  we  have  borne  all  names,  and  spoken 
every  tongue  the  world  has  known.  Whoever  calls  us, 
with  prophetic  mind,  with  clean,  strong  heart  and  rev 
erent  spirit,  him  will  we  serve  in  drama,  song,  and  story. 
We  will  follow  no  other. 

RICHARD.  [In  desperation.]  Go,  then,  all  of  you! 
I  do  not  need  you.  I  can — I  will  call  other  helpers ! 

VICTORIA.  But  can  you  make  a  play  with  truth  left 
out? 

ROLAND.  What  worthy  deeds  will  your  heroes  do,  if 
they  have  not  courage? 

ENID.  With  every  grace  and  charm,  woman  is  like  a 
thing  deformed,  if  she  lack  modesty. 

FIDELIA.  He  who  has  no  faith  shall  have  no  vision 
of  the  future.  [RICHARD  drops  the  book.] 

EDWARD.  You  must  lose  your  life  to  find  it.  Only 
he  who  gives  self  can  conquer. 

RICHARD.  [Pleading.]  Oh,  do  not  leave  me!  Be  my 
friends,  my  comrades,  dearer  than  all  other  friends! 


92  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

Help  me  to  fashion  true,  valiant  men,  and  sweet,  gentle 
women !  Help  me  to  create  something  strong  and  beau 
tiful  to  give  the  world.  Oh,  say  that  you  will  stay! 
[A  pause.  The  people  of  the  play  make  no  sign.  He 
raises  his  hands  to  heaven.}  Oh,  help  me,  God,  to  put 
away  all  base,  ignoble,  mean  things  from  my  life.  Take 
my  little  fame, — all  else,  and  I  will  eat  again  the  bitter 
bread  of  poverty  and  obscurity.  But  give  me  faith  to 
follow  truth,  even  to  death, — courage  to  give  self,  humbly, 
to  the  uttermost.  Help  me,  O  God! 

[He  sinks  into  his  seatf  and  drops  his  head  upon 
his  outstretched  arms.  The  players,  with  com 
passionate  looks,  gently  extend  their  hands  to 
ward  him.  The  lights  grow  dim  and  dimmer, 
until  the  room  is  dark.  Immediately,  it  begins 
to  grow  light  again.  RICHARD  is  alone  and 
asleep,  leaning  back  in  his  chair.  There  is  a 
loud  knock  at  the  rear  door.] 

RICHARD.  [Starting  up,  cries  excitedly.]  They  will 
stay!  Come!  Come!  [Enter  OSCAR,  STEPHEN,  COR 
DELIA,  MADELINE,  and  AGNES.]  Where — oh !  It  is  you ! 
[He  stares  at  them,  appearing  surprised,  and  then  dis 
appointed.  ] 

STEPHEN.     Well,  here  we  are  again,  Rich. 
RICHARD.     [Recovering  himself,  speaks  calmly.]     Yes, 
I  see  you  are. 

OSCAR.     Well,  Rich,  did  you  get  any  new  thoughts 
while  we  were  gone? 
RICHARD.     Yes. 

MADELINE.     Serious  ones,  too,  I'll  say. 
CORDELIA.     Let's  get  started,  right  away.     Only  two 
hours  of  the  old  year  left,  and  I  want  you  all  at  the 
apartment  before  midnight. 

OSCAR.     All  set.     Get  your  hat,  Rich. 
RICHARD.     [Gravely.]     I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  ex 
cuse  me.     I  don't  feel  that  I  can  go. 

[The  others  look  surprised.} 
OSCAR.     What!     Not  going? 


FIGS  AND  THISTLES  93 

'* 

MADELINE.     Oh,  you  must  go. 

STEPHEN.  [Dejectedly.]  I  knew  some  beastly  thing 
would  happen. 

CORDELIA.  I  know  you  are  all  tired  out.  But  come 
with  us,  and  get  out  in  the  air.  You'll  feel  better,  then. 

RICHARD.     It's  not  that.     I  am  feeling  perfectly  well. 

AGNES.  You're  going  to  work  on  that  play.  [To  the 
others.]  Didn't  I  say,  if  he  got  started  once,  he'd  go 
on,  writing  all  night? 

RICHARD.  I  am  not  going  to  work  on  the  play.  I 
shall  not  write  tonight. 

CORDELIA.  What's  happened?  Nothing  serious,  I  hope. 

RICHARD.  I  shall  have  friends  with  me  tonight.  [He 
takes  up  the  book.] 

MADELINE.     Friends — visiting  you,  here? 

RICHARD.     Yes.     They  were  in,  just  before  you  came. 

STEPHEN.  Well,  well!  They  must  have  dropped  in 
rather  unexpectedly.  Friends  you  haven't  seen  for  some 
time,  no  doubt.  Must  be  dear  friends  to  sidetrack  us. 

RICHARD.  Yes — dear  friends  they  used  to  be.  [He 
clasps  the  book  to  his  breast.  Pause.] 

OSCAR.     Do  we  know  them?     Have  we  seen  them? 

RICHARD.  You  have  seen  them,  but  you  do  not  know 
them.  [Pause.  They  look  strangely  at  RICHARD,  and 
then  at  each  other.] 

OSCAR.  [With  an  effort,  getting  up  his  courage.] 
Tell  us — who  are  these  friends? 

RICHARD.     The  people  of  my  play. 

[They  look  at  him  incredulously,  and  at  each  other, 
mystified.  They  are  about  to  speakf  but  some 
thing  in  his  look  checks  them.  The  CURTAIN 
falls.] 


THE  WISE  MAN  OF  NINEVEH 

AN  ORIENTAL  PLAY 


CHARACTERS 

SENNACHERIB,  King  of  Assyria. 

AHIKAR,  the  Wise,  the  king's  counselor. 

ABUSMAK,  the  king's  chief  captain. 

NADAN,  nephew  and  adopted  son  of  Ahikar. 

SERABA,  wife  of  Ahikar. 

Zu MURAL,  daughter  of  the  king. 

MENAR-SULA,  a  dancing  girl. 

A  SOOTHSAYER. 

A  MESSENGER. 

AN  ATTENDANT. 

A  SPY. 

SOLDIERS,  SLAVES,  MUSICIANS,  ETC. 

ACT  I.     SCENE  i.     Court  in  front  of  Ahikar's  house. 
SCENE  2.     The  King's  council  hall. 

ACT  II.  SCENE  i.     Gardens  of  the  palace. 
SCENE  2.     The  King's  council  hall. 

An  interval  of  nine  days  between  Act  I.  and  Act  II. 
The  action  takes  place  at  Nineveh,  700  B.  C. 


THE   WISE    MAN   OF 
NINEVEH 

AN  ORIENTAL  PLAY 
ACT  I. 

SCENE  i.  A  court  in  front  of  AHIKAR'S  house.  Pillars 
on  either  side  extend  from  the  house  into  the  fore 
ground.  In  center,  rear,  is  seen  door  to  the  house. 
The  curtain  rises,  disclosing  SERABA,  seated  on  a 
bench,  right,  front,  doing  embroidery  work. 
AHIKAR,  left  front,  stands  with  bowed  head,  in  sad 
meditation. 

SERABA.  O  Ahikar,  my  husband,  thou  art  much  cast 
down. 

AHIKAR.  [Looking  up.]  The  days  are  heavy,  and 
the  nights  bring  evil  dreams. 

SERABA.     Alas,  what  weighs  upon  thee? 

AHIKAR.  The  wicked  deeds  of  Nadan  trouble  me. 
He  doth  dissipate  my  property  to  its  loss,  and  spareth 
not  my  servants  and  handmaids.  He  tormenteth  my 
mules  and  cattle,  and  destroy eth  the  pick  of  the  flock. 

SERABA.  No  good  thought  dwelleth  in  him.  He  is 
like  an  evil  blast  that  heraldeth  the  baneful  storm. 

AHIKAR.     Alas,  that  this  should  be  my  sister's  son! 

SERABA.  But  thou  hast  made  him  as  thine  own  son. 
Thou  didst  take  him  to  thy  house,  when  he  was  little. 

97 


98  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

Thou  gavest  him  a  gold  chain  for  his  neck,  and  like  a 
king's  son  thou  didst  deck  him  out  with  ornaments. 
Thou  hast  clothed  him  in  byssus  and  purple.  Thou  hast 
given  him  fine  food,  even  milk  and  honey.  Thou  hast 
taught  him  thy  precepts  and  maxims,  yet  hath  he  ever 
been  mean  and  slothful. 

AHIKAR.  Thou  knowest  how  this  came  to  pass.  No 
children  came  to  us,  despite  our  prayers  and  offerings 
to  the  gods.  One  day,  when  I  gave  sacrifice  at  Assur's 
temple,  there  came  a  voice  from  the  flame,  saying,  "There 
is  no  seed  ordained  for  thee,  Ahikar.  Take  thou  thy 
sister's  son  into  thy  house.  Bring  him  up  as  thine  own, 
and  give  him  thy  wisdom." 

SERABA.  Thou  didst  desire  this  message  overmuch; 
thy  longing  for  it  brought  it  to  thine  ears. 

AHIKAR.  Shall  men  say,  Lo,  Ahikar  dieth  alive? 
Shall  men  say,  Ahikar  dieth,  and  leaveth  no  son  to  bury 
him,  and  no  daughter  to  bewail  him?  Shall  the  people 
say,  Ahikar's  wisdom  passeth,  since  no  son  taketh  it  from 
him? 

SERABA.  Thou  didst  desire  too  much.  The  gods  have 
given  thee  long  life,  wealth,  and  great  wisdom,  and  have 
made  thee  to  stand  at  the  right  hand  of  the  king.  The 
people  honor  thee  as  the  wisest  man  in  Nineveh.  Thou 
shouldst  have  been  content.  Thou  dost  teach  others  that 
discontent  is  ever  a  downward  path. 

AHIKAR.  The  king  did  say  unto  me,  "O  Ahikar,  thou 
growest  old,  and  who  will  advise  in  the  affairs  of  the 
kingdom,  when  thou  art  gone?"  And  I  said,  "O  King, 
the  voice  of  the  king  is  even  as  the  voice  of  the  gods. 
Nadan,  my  sister's  son,  will  I  take  into  my  house,  and 
him  will  I  instruct  in  all  wisdom,  and  he  shall  stand 
before  thee,  when  I  am  gone."  And  the  king  said,  "It  is 
well." 

SERABA.  Thou  knowest  the  saying :  Rejoice  not  in  the 
number  of  thy  children,  and  in  their  lack  be  not  distressed. 
But  thou  didst  not  regard  this.  Now  art  thou  distressed, 
because  of  Nadan's  evil  ways. 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF  NINEVEH  99 

AHIKAR.     Yea,  I  am  covered  with  grief  and  shame. 

SEBABA.  Thou  hast  warmed  a  serpent,  which  will 
surely  sting  thee. 

AHIKAR.  I  will  reprove  him  once  again.  I  will  re 
buke  his  folly.  Perchance  I  may  light  a  candle  of  under 
standing  in  his  heart.  He  may  yet  forsake  his  crooked 
path. 

SERBAA.  And  he  will  despise  thy  words,  and  scatter 
them  like  chaff  before  the  wind. 

[A  pause.  Enter  ABUSMAK,  left.  He  makes 
sign  of  greeting,  by  extending  the  hands,  palms 
downward,  and  bending  the  body  forward.] 

ABUSMAK.  Greeting,  father  Ahikar,  and  greeting, 
good  Seraba.  To  both  the  gods  give  health. 

AHIKAR.  And  long  life  to  thee,  Abusmak,  son  of  my 
comrade.  Hast  thou  tidings?  Have  the  spies  returned 
from  Egypt? 

ABUSMAK.  Nay,  not  yet.  But  evil  tidings  come  from 
the  south.  The  hosts  of  the  Babylonians  are  stirred  in 
rebellion,  and  the  king  is  troubled. 

AHIKAR.  It  is  deep  cause  for  trouble,  for  they  are 
in  multitude  like  the  sands  of  the  desert. 

ABUSMAK.  I  fear  not  their  multitude.  Already  have 
I  given  command  that  the  satraps  and  captains  assemble 
their  cohorts  in  the  Royal  City.  In  ten  days  they  shall 
start  for  Babylon. 

AHIKAR.     In  action  thou  art  the  king's  arm. 

ABUSMAK.  And  in  counsel  thou  the  king's  brain. 
Hast  thou  a  plan,  O  wise  Ahikar?  For  thy  wisdom 
availeth  more  than  chariots  and  the  strength  of  horses. 

AHIKAR.  In  that  we  have  so  many  foes,  and  the 
course  of  Egypt  is  uncertain,  we  should  make  a  covenant 
of  friendship  with  some  strong  king. 

ABUSMAK.     Thou  art  ever  wise,  father  Ahikar. 

AHIKAR.  The  Median  king  doth  desire  a  league  of 
amity.  If  that  were  made,  he  would  lend  us  help. 

ABUSMAK.  [Earnestly.]  Do  thou  bring  this  before 
the  king.  My  voice  shall  go  for  such  a  covenant.  We 


ioo  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

shall  be  stronger  then  to  meet  our  enemies.  But  how  can 
we  gain  the  favor  of  the  Median  king? 

AHIKAR.  By  offering  the  princess  Zumural,  to  be  his 
son's  wife. 

ABUSMAK.  [Starting  back.]  Oh,  never,  never! 
This  can  never  be ! 

AHIKAR.     Why  cannot  this  be  done?     Give  reasons. 

ABUSMAK.  [Fervently.]  O  father  Ahikar,  it  cannot 
be !  It  must  not !  I  came  to  speak  to  thee  of  the  prin 
cess  Zumural — to  beg  thy  counsel,  but,  till  now,  could 
not  find  words. 

AHIKAR.     Speak  freely,  son  of  my  comrade. 

ABUSMAK.  I  love  the  princess.  I  want  her  for  my 
wife. 

AHIKAR.  Abusmak,  thou  art  fallen  before  the  strong 
est  thing  in  the  world.  Wine  is  strong,  but  woman 
planteth  the  vineyard,  whence  the  wine  cometh.  A  king 
is  strong,  but  all  kings  are  born  of  woman.  Man  gath- 
ereth  gold  and  silver  and  all  goodly  things,  for  the  love 
of  woman.  Men  have  erred,  sinned,  and  perished  for 
women,  and  Zumural  is  one  of  these. 

ABUSMAK.  [In  fervid  enthusiasm.]  She  is  the  flower 
of  the  rose  tree  in  the  spring,  as  the  frankincense  branch 
in  the  summer,  as  lilies  by  the  rivers  of  waters. 

AHIKAR.  Passion  hath  taken  away  thy  prudence. 
What  will  the  king  say  to  this  ? 

ABUSMAK.  Oh,  plead  my  cause  before  the  king,  father 
Ahikar.  Am  I  not  valiant  and  true  ?  Have  I  not  led  the 
army  well? 

AHIKAR.  Thou  hast  great  honor  for  one  so  young. 
Thou  art  the  king's  chief  captain.  But  the  King's  daugh 
ter  is  not  for  thee.  Thou  art  mad.  Thou  must  not  look 
so  high. 

ABUSMAK.  I  am  not  mad,  but  I  have  dared  to  look 
at  her,  and  I  have  dared  to  speak  to  her. 

SERABA.  [Stopping  her  work.]  Entreat  the  king  for 
him,  Ahikar,  my  husband.  Lift  up  thy  voice  in  his  cause. 
The  king  will  listen  to  thee,  knowing  thy  wisdom. 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          101 

ABUSMAK.  O  good  Seraba,  the  gods  reward  thee  for 
thy  words  of  cheer. 

SERABA.  I  speak  for  thee,  and  likewise  for  the  prin 
cess.  A  father  giveth  his  daughter  to  whom  he  will, 
and  she  may  never  choose.  It  is  an  evil  custom.  Whether 
she  be  slave  or  princess,  she  is  even  as  a  slave,  when 
given  in  marriage. 

ABUSMAK.     Good  Seraba,  thou  art  also  very  wise. 

SERABA.  A  woman  should  love  her  husband,  and  a 
man  should  love  his  wife,  as  his  own  flesh.  For  she  is 
himself,  and  his  companion  of  his  life,  and  by  extreme 
labor  she  nurtureth  his  sons. 

ABUSMAK.     O  good  Seraba! 

AHIKAR.  I  will  help  thee.  I  will  raise  up  my  voice, 
even  in  the  presence  of  the  king. 

ABUSMAK.  Good  father  Ahikar,  thou  wert  my  father's 
friend.  Thou  didst  save  his  life,  when  he  was  falsely 
accused,  and  the  king  restored  him  to  honor.  I  will  ever 
look  to  heaven  with  mine  eyes,  remembering  thy  benefits, 
and  I  will  seek  the  favor  of  the  gods  for  thee. 

AHIKAR.  And  I  will  kindle  a  fire  on  the  altars  of 
Belshim  and  Shamin.  I  will  throw  incense  on  the  flame, 
make  offerings,  and  seek  an  omen.  Then  will  I  go  to  the 
King. 

ABUSMAK.  [Going  left.]  Farewell,  father  Ahikar, 
and  good  Seraba.  The  gods  lengthen  your  days.  [Goes 
out,  left.] 

SERABA.  Abusmak  is  strong  and  brave.  The  gods 
give  him  Zumural.  Mayest  thou  persuade  the  king. 

AHIKAR.  My  task  is  hard,  and  my  striving  may 
bring  grief.  Thou  knowest  the  proverb:  Do  thou  not 
bring  about  a  betrothal,  for  they  see  the  good  to  be  from 
the  gods  and  from  luck;  but  the  bad  is  traced  to  thee, 
and  thou  art  despised. 

SERABA,  [Looking  left]  Behold,  Nadan  cemeth— 
he  whom  thou  hast  made  as  a  son.  [Rising.]  It  doth 
not  please  me  to  see  him.  [Goes  into  house.  Enter 


102  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

NADAN.  He  is  richly  dressed.  His  expression  is  one  of 
pride  and  arrogance.] 

NADAN.  Greeting,  father  Aihikar.  The  gods  keep 
thee  well. 

AHIKAR.     Greeting,  my  son. 

NADAN.  Father  Ahikar,  it  doth  grieve  me  to  see  that 
thou  growest  very  old.  Thy  head  is  bowed,  and  thy 
beard  is  white.  Thy  limbs  are  feeble,  and  thy  walk  un 
steady. 

AHIKAR.  Strength  falleth  from  man  at  the  winter  of 
life,  as  the  leaf  falleth  from  the  fig  tree. 

NADAN.  The  affairs  of  the  kingdom  are  now  a  burden 
too  heavy  for  thee.  Thou  shouldst  abide  in  thy  house 
for  rest  and  meditation.  Let  me  stand  before  the  king, 
and  counsel  him  in  thy  place.  I  have  youth,  and  I  am 
very  strong. 

AHIKAR.  Son,  boast  not  in  the  day  of  thy  youth,  lest 
thy  youth  be  thy  destruction. 

NADAN.     But  thou  hast  taught  me  thy  wisdom. 

AHIKAR.  Open  thy  heart  to  instruction  in  thy  youth, 
and  thou  shalt  find  wisdom  in  thine  old  age.  Thou  must 
come  to  wisdom,  as  one  that  ploweth  and  planteth,  and 
waiteth  for  the  good  fruits. 

NADAN.  Thy  powers  fail  thee,  father  Ahikar.  Men 
say  that  thy  mind  is  distraught,  and  thy  thoughts  de 
ficient.  Thou  shouldst  yield  thy  place,  before  thou  art 
compelled  to  give  way  in  dishonor. 

AHIKAR.  Son,  thy  mouth  speaketh  reverence,  but  thy 
heart  goeth  after  covetousness.  Avarice  is  the  mother 
of  all  evils,  and  discontent  leadeth  to  destruction. 

NADAN.  [Nettled.]  Didst  thou  not  so  rear  me  and 
teach  me,  that  I  should  be  counselor  in  thy  place? 

AHIKAR.  Yea,  when  thou  lovest  honor,  and  honorest 
wisdom. 

NADAN.  [Arrogantly.]  Hast  thou  aught  else  to  urge 
against  me? 

AHIKAR.  Verily,  I  have.  Thou  hast  of  late  grown 
insolent.  Thou  hast  wasted  my  chattels.  Thou  hast 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          103 

abused  my  servants,  and  I  have  heard  their  weeping  and 
groaning.  Why  hast  thou  given  the  slave,  Roguel,  a 
wound  on  the  head? 

NADAN.     He  moved  not  quickly,  when  I  spake. 

AHIKAR.  He  that  showeth  no  mercy  shall  not  escape 
the  rod.  .  Nadan,  thou  art  contentious,  vain,  and  covetous. 
Yet  will  I  bear  with  thee  awhile,  but  if  thou  mend  not  thy 
ways,  I  shall  make  report  of  thee  to  the  king,  and  I  shall 
disown  thee  as  my  son. 

NADAN.  [Sullenly.]  I  hear  thee.  Thou  dost  chide 
continually. 

AHIKAR.  Because  thou  dost  continually  offend.  I  go 
now  to  make  offerings  to  Belshim  and  Shamin,  for  men 
must  reverence  the  gods.  I  leave  these  precepts  with 
thee:  be  humble,  talk  little,  be  modest  in  all  things. 
Farewell.  [He  goes  out  right.  NADAN  walks  about,  in 
evident  anger.  After  a  moment,  MENAR-SULA  enters, 
left.  She  looks  apprehensively  about  her.] 

MENAR-SULA.     Nadan,  dear  Nadan! 

NADAN.  [Surprised,  turning  toward  her.]  Menar- 
Sula!  What  meaneth  this? 

MENAR-SULA.  O  Nadan,  thou  didst  not  come  to  me, 
according  to  thy  word,  and  I  longed  to  see  thee. 

NADAN.  [Vexed.]  Have  I  not  told  thee  thou  must 
not  follow  me  about?  It  is  unseemly. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Reproachfully.]  Four  moons  have 
not  yet  gone,  since  thou  didst  avow  thy  love,  and  thy 
feet  were  swift  to  bring  thee  to  my  side. 

NADAN.  Now  am  I  much  busied  with  affairs.  I  must 
learn  the  art  of  writing,  the  answering  of  dispatches,  the 
flight  of  birds,  and  divination. 

MENAR-SULA.     Thou  couldst  come  at  nightfall. 

NADAN.  At  nightfall  I  light  the  altar  fires,  and  make 
offerings  to  the  gods. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Angrily.]  Thou  hast  time  for  other 
maidens !  Nelida  hath  seen  thee. 

NADAN.  [Sternly.]  Nelida  shall  be  whipped  for 
speaking  lies. 


104  SIX  SHORT  PLAYS 

MENAR-SULA.  Oh,  no !  Let  her  not  be  beaten  for  my 
hasty  words.  I  will  believe  thee.  But  say  again,  thou 
lovest  me. 

NADAN.     In  truth,  I  do. 

MENAR-SULA.  Nadan,  my  heart's  desire,  when  wilt 
thou  take  me  as  thy  wife? 

NADAN.     Thou  must  not  think  of  that. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Insistently.]  Thou  didst  promise, 
thou  didst  promise! 

NADAN.  But  then  it  had  not  been  decreed  that  I  should 
stand  before  the  king,  and  be  chief  scribe  and  counselor, 
in  place  of  father  Ahikar.  The  king  would  not  suffer 
me  to  take  a  slave  to  wife. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Proudly.]  My  father  gave  no  tribute 
to  any  king.  He  was  a  Bedouin  chief.  I  am  nobly  born. 

NADAN.     But  here  thou  art  a  slave. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Fiercely.]  Nadan,  cast  me  not  aside! 
My  blood  is  fierce  and  wild,  as  are  the  desert  horses. 
Make  me  not  desperate ! 

NADAN.  [In  conciliatory  tone.]  I  love  thee,  truly. 
But  thou  must  be  more  discreet.  [Looking  about.] 
Someone  might  see  thee. 

MENAR-SULA.     [Pleading.]     O  take  me  as  thy  wife! 

NADAN.     I  cannot.     Thou  art  not  free. 

MENAR-SULA.  Then  take  me  as  thy  slave — thine  only 
slave,  and  keep  me  forever. 

NADAN.     That  will  I  do. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Kneels  before  him,  and  clasps  his 
knees.]  O  Nadan,  I  love  thee! 

NADAN.  [Raising  her  up.]  Good  Sula,  rise.  I  will 
do  much  to  make  thee  happy.  [He  pauses  a  moment  in 
thought.  ]  Ten  moons  have  gone,  since  thou  earnest  from 
Arabia.  Dost  thou  not  long  to  see  thy  native  land? 

MENAR-SULA.     Thou  hast  made  me  forget  it. 

NADAN.     But  thy  father  and  mother  and  brethren? 

MENAR-SULA.     Thou  art  more  to  me  than  my  kindred. 

NADAN.     [Walks  slowly  from  her  in  thought,  pauses 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          105 

a  moment,  and  then  turns  toward  her.]  Dost  thou  love 
me  enough  to  do  something  I  shall  require  of  thee? 

MENAR-SULA.     Thou  knowest  I  do. 

NADAN.     Wilt  thou  give  a  letter  to  the  king? 

MENAR-SULA.     [In  surprise.]     To  the  King? 

NADAN.     Yea,  hast  thou  courage  to  do  it? 

MENAR-SULA.  Dost  thou  mean  today,  when  I  dance 
before  him? 

NADAN.  Yea,  today,  after  the  dance  is  done.  I  will 
instruct  thee  what  to  do  and  what  words  to  say.  Canst 
thou — wilt  thou  do  this  thing  for  me? 

MENAR-SULA.     I  can  and  will  do  anything  for  thee. 

NADAN.  [Puts  his  hands  on  her  cheeks,  and  kisses 
her  forehead.  ]  Go  now,  good  Sula,  before  thou  art  seen. 
I  will  come  to  thee  very  soon.  Now  thou  must  hasten. 
Farewell. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Goes  left,  then  turns.]  Farewell, 
Nadan,  my  life.  [She  goes  out  left.  NADAN  goes,  right. 
As  they  pass  out,  the  curtain  falls.] 


io6  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 


SCENE  2.  The  same  day.  THE  KING'S  council  hall 
At  the  left,  THE  KING  is  seated  on  a  raised  throne. 
At  his  right,  stand  ABUSMAK,  NADAN,  ZUMURAL,  and 
SERABA.  At  his  left,  and  rear,  stand  soldiers,  slaves, 
etc.  Two  slaves  stir  the  air  over  THE  KING  with 
long-handled  fans.  A  moment  after  the  curtain  rises, 
MENAR-SULA  and  two  players  on  stringed  in 
struments  enter  from  right,  and  prostrate  themselves 
before  THE  KING.  THE  KING  stretches  out  his  hand, 
and  they  rise.  The  musicians  take  their  stand,  rear, 
center,  and  play,  and  MENAR-SULA  dances.  Music 
and  dance  are  oriental.  After  the  dance  is  done, 
dancer  and  players  prostrate  themselves  again  before 
THE  KING.  Again  he  stretches  out  his  hand,  and  they 
arise  and  retire  right,  keeping  their  faces  toward  THE 
KING. 

THE  KING.  Music  is  pleasant  to  the  ear,  and  a  maid, 
dancing,  delighteth  the  eye.  Yet  am  I  tired  of  it.  Naught 
pleaseth  me  today.  Time  crawleth  slowly  on,  burdened 
with  cares.  [To  ABUSMAK.]  Have  the  spies  returned 
from  Egypt? 

ABUSMAK.     My  lord  and  king,  not  yet. 

THE  KING.  Mayhap  the  Egyptians  knew  them  to  be 
spies,  and  hold  them  now  as  captives,  lest  they  tell  us 
of  preparation  for  war  against  us. 

ABUSMAK.  My  lord,  I  think  not  so.  They  are  clever 
men  and  cunning,  and  so  garbed  as  to  belie  their  mission. 
Time,  indeed,  hath  gone  to  make  the  journey,  but  they 
would  linger,  getting  report  to  our  advantage. 

NADAN.  My  lord  and  king,  if  we  but  send  a  hundred 
talents  of  gold,  and  a  thousand  men  for  making  bricks, 
the  Egyptian  king  will  be  our  friend. 

ABUSMAK.  It  were  better  that  ten  thousand  die  in 
battle,  than  that  a  thousand  die  as  slaves. 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF  NINEVEH          107 

THE  KING.  We  must  weigh  reasons,  and  follow  the 
best  counsel.  Where  is  the  wise  Ahikar? 

NADAN.  He  is  at  the  temple  of  Belshim  and  Shamin. 
[Pause.  Sound  of  a  trumpet  outside,  right.  All  listen. 
It  sounds  again.] 

ABUSMAK.  [Excitedly.]  O  King,  the  trumpet  sound- 
eth  the  signal,  which  doth  proclaim  the  spies  have  come 
from  Egypt.  [Enter  from  right  one  of  the  spies.  He 
prostrates  himself  before  the  king.] 

THE  SPY.     I  bow  on  my  face,  at  the  feet  of  the  king. 

THE  KING.     Rise  and  speak. 

THE  SPY.  [Rising.]  At  thy  command,  O  King,  we 
went  to  Egypt,  my  fellows  and  myself,  and  stayed  there 
many  days.  Some  told  us  war  was  planned,  but  none 
knew  in  what  quarter. 

THE  KING.     Didst  learn  aught  of  their  numbers? 

THE  SPY.  We  spied  among  their  ranks,  and  found 
as  follows :  of  bowmen  there  are  one  hundred  and  forty 
thousand ;  of  slingers,  two  hundred  and  twelve  thousand ; 
of  war  chariots,  a  thousand;  of  lancers  with  shields,  we 
learned  not  the  number ;  of  tents  and  baggage  carts,  many. 
In  all,  their  hosts  are  as  grasshoppers  for  multitude. 

THE  KING.     Learned  ye  aught  else? 

THE  SPY.  Their  king  is  much  troubled,  and  their 
priests  are  anxious  and  perplexed. 

THE  KING.     Didst  thou  learn  the  cause  of  this? 

THE  SPY.  One  of  our  number,  garbed  as  a  seer, 
talked  with  their  priests,  and  learned  this  much:  their 
king  had  planned  a  mighty  work,  but  some  god  gave 
forth  an  oracle,  which  must  be  made  clear  before  the 
work  go  on.  No  one  in  Egypt  can  expound  the  saying. 
Therefore,  are  their  priests  and  wise  men  much  dis 
traught. 

THE  KING.  [Musing.]  A  king  may  crush  the  man 
that  vexeth  him,  but  the  gods  will  not  be  stayed.  [To 
THE  SPY.]  Hast  thou  other  matter  for  mine  ear? 

THE  SPY.     Naught  else  of  import.  * 


io8  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

THE  KING.  Thou  mayest  go.  There  will  be  gold  and 
presents  for  thee  and  thy  comrades. 

THE  SPY.  O  king,  live  forever!  [He  withdraws, 
right,  keeping  his  face  toward  THE  KING.] 

THE  KING.  [To  ABUSMAK.]  Dost  thou  believe  the 
Egyptians  will  war  against  us? 

ABUSMAK.  If  they  come,  O  king,  their  bodies  will 
rest  forever  on  the  plain,  outside  the  Royal  City. 

[Enter  MENAR-SULA,   quickly,  from  right.     She 
advances  to  THE  KING,  and  prostrates  herself.] 

MENAR-SULA.     I  am  thy  slave  and  the  dust  of  thy  feet. 

THE  KING.     Rise  and  speak. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Rising.]  O  king,  I  found  this  writ 
ing  in  the  way,  and  have  brought  it  to  my  lord  and  king. 
[Gives  him  a  piece  of  parchment.] 

THE  KING.     [Handing  it  to  ABUSMAK.]     Read. 

ABUSMAK.  [Reading.]  "Ahikar,  counselor  to  Sen 
nacherib,  king  of  Assyria,  to  Merodach-baladan,  King  of 
Babylon.  All  hail.  When  this  writing  reacheth  thee, 
thou  shalt  muster  thy  forces,  and  come  to  the  Plain  of 
the  Eagles,  on  the  fourteenth  day  of  the  month  Sivan, 
and  I  will  put  in  thy  power  the  land  of  the  Assyrians, 
and  will  give  the  throne  of  Sennacherib  into  thy  hand." 
[All  start  in  great  surprise.] 

THE  KING.  [Rising.]  Ahikar  hath  written  this! 
Let  mine  eyes  behold  it. 

ABUSMAK.  [Handing  the  parchment  to  THE  KING.] 
Surely,  this  came  not  from  Ahikar's  hand! 

THE  KING.  Is  not  this  Ahikar's  seal?  Look,  Nadan. 
[Hands  parchment  to  NADAN.] 

NADAN.  Truly,  it  is  his  seal,  and  the  writing  is  his. 
[Hands  parchment  back  to  THE  KING.] 

THE  KING.  [Falling  back  on  his  throne.]  Ahikar, 
my  counselor,  would  betray  me!  Abusmak,  straightway 
bring  him  before  me. 

ABUSMAK.  I  obey  the  king.  [Goes  out  right,  keeping 
his  face  to  THE  KING.] 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          109 

THE  KING.  [To  MENAR-SULA.]  Tell  me,  girl,  again, 
where  didst  thou  find  this  writing? 

MENAR-SULA.  I  saw  one  gallop  swiftly  toward  the 
western  gate.  This  letter  fell  from  his  hand.  I  took  it 
up,  and  brought  it  to  the  king. 

THE  KING.  Thou  hast  done  well.  Thou  shalt  have 
ten  shekels  of  silver,  and  a  cloak  of  byssus.  Thou  mayest 
go. 

MENAR-SULA.  May  the  king  live  forever.  [She  goes 
out,  right,  keeping  her  face  toward  THE  KING.] 

THE  KING.     Ahikar  false!     Whom  can  I  trust? 

SERABA.  O  king,  Ahikar  hath  not  done  this  thing,  nor 
hath  he  ever  contrived  evil  against  thee. 

THE  KING.     His  writing  and  his  seal  condemn  him. 

NADAN.  Perchance,  O  king,  he  will  interpret  the 
writing  for  good,  not  evil.  Behold,  he  cometh.  \Enter 
ABUSMAK  and  AHIKAR,  right.  Both  salute  THE  KING.] 

AHIKAR.     The  gods  give  thee  long  life,  O  king. 

THE  KING.  [Sternly.]  Ahikar,  I  did  trust  thee.  I 
put  thee  in  a  high  place,  and  did  listen  to  thy  counsel, 
and  from  my  throne  ithou  wouldst  now  hurl  me  to  ruin. 
Thou  wouldst  betray  me  into  the  hand  of  Merodach- 
baladan  of  Babylon. 

AHIKAR.  Who  bringeth  such  a  charge  against  me,  O 
my  lord  and  king? 

THE  KING.  [Handing  him  the  parchment.]  Read 
what  thy  hand  hath  written. 

AHIKAR.  [Reads  the  parchment.]  O  King,  I  have 
not  contrived  this  message,  nor  put  my  hand  to  it.  Some 
enemy  hath  done  it. 

THE  KING.     [Coldly.]     Doth  it  not  bear  thy  seal? 

AHIKAR.     Alas,  it  doth. 

THE  KING.     The  hand  writing  is  thy  very  own. 

AHIKAR.  It  doth  resemble  mine,  yet  have  I  not  formed 
the  characters. 

THE  KING.  [In  stern  anger.]  Abusmak,  lead  away 
the  faithless  and  godless  Ahikar.  Take  him  to  the 
Desolate  Field,  and  have  him  slain,  and  remove  his  head 


no  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

one  hundred  ells  from  his  body.  [The  others,  except 
NADAN,  look  aghast,} 

SERABA.  [Pleading.]  O  King,  live  forever.  Spare 
Ahikar,  for  he  hath  not  sinned  against  thee.  Rather 
doth  he  meditate,  day  and  night,  how  best  to  serve  thee. 
He  is  a  priest  of  Assur.  Wilt  thou  offend  the  gods? 

THE  KING.  [Haughtily.]  The  king  is  mightier  than 
the  gods. 

ABUSMAK.  O  king,  judge  not  Ahikar  on  this  piece  of 
writing  found  by  chance,  for  surely  some  deceit  is  hidden 
in  it.  Thy  father,  great  King  Sargon,  loved  and  trusted 
him.  His  wisdom  made  Assyria  great.  By  his  wise 
counsel  were  (the  Hittites  and  the  Philistines  subdued, 
Samaria  was  overthrown,  and  the  tribes  of  Israel  taken 
in  captivity. 

THE  KING.  Now  would  he  overthrow  Nineveh,  and 
make  us  slaves  to  Babylon. 

ZUMURAL.  Father,  my  lord  and  king,  the  wise  Ahikar 
doth  not  merit  death.  This  thing  is  not  from  him,  for 
he  is  good,  even  as  he  is  wise.  The  grapevine  doth  not 
send  out  thorns,  nor  doth  the  fig  tree  give  forth  thistles. 
How,  then,  can  Ahikar  do  an  evil  thing? 

THE  KING.  Thou  knowest  not  the  wickedness  of 
men's  hearts. 

NADAN.  Ahikar  is  inane  and  weak.  The  burden  of 
the  counselor  hath  been  too  great  for  his  old  age,  for 
he  is  near  the  grave.  He  wot  not  what  he  wrote.  Banish 
him  from  Assyria,  and  let  him  die  of  sickness. 

THE  KING.     The  unfaithful  man  must  die  today. 

AHIKAR.  O  king,  thou  hast  willed  me  to  death,  and 
wilt  not  hear  me.  But  I  am  innocent,  and  there  is  no 
deceit  in  my  heart.  My  life  hath  been  open.  Long  did 
I  serve  great  Sargon,  thy  father.  Long  have  I  served 
thee.  Long  have  I  stood  in  the  House  of  the  Great 
Mountain  of  the  Lands.  Now  thou  wilt  send  me  down 
to  silence,  gloom,  and  dust.  But  have  pity  on  thy  servant. 
Since  I  must  die,  command  that  I  be  slain  within  my 
house,  and  my  body  given  over  to  burial. 


THE   WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          in 

THE  XING.  [Rising.]  Let  him  be  slain  within  his 
house,  and  his  body  given  burial.  Two  witnesses  shall 
bring  me  word  thereof.  Thus  endeth  it.  So  perish  all 
unfaithful  to  the  king.  The  king  hath  spoken.  [The 
curtain  falls.] 


ii2  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 


ACT  II. 

NINE  DAYS  LATER 

SCENE  i.  The  gardens  of  THE  KING'S  palace.  It  is 
moonlight.  There  are  flower  beds,  with  walks  be 
tween,  and  a  fountain  in  the  rear.  There  is  a  bench, 
front,  center.  The  curtain  rises f  disclosing  ABUSMAK, 
standing  near  bench,  and  looking  expectantly  toward 
left  entrance  of  garden.  After  a  moment,  ZUMURAL 
enters  from  left.  She  goes  up  to  himf  and  gives  him 
her  hands. 

ABUSMAK.     Zumural,  thou  hast  come  at  last! 

ZUMURAL.     Have  I  come  late,  good  Abusmak? 

ABUSMAK.  I  came  too  soon.  I  could  not  wait.  Nine 
days  have  gone,  since  I  have  seen  thee.  To  a  waiting 
heart  how  slow  the  time !  Now  it  will  run  as  in  a  happy 
dream.  With  thee  how  have  the  hours  gone,  sweet 
Zumural  ? 

ZUMURAL.  I  burden  the  air  with  my  sighs.  I  moan 
like  a  dove,  night  and  day. 

ABUSMAK.  [Looking  around.]  Are  we  secure  from 
spying  eyes? 

ZUMURAL.  My  father  and  myself  alone  come  here, 
and  he  taketh  his  rest  now.  Pray  sit  beside  me,  here. 
[They  sit  together  on  the  bench.]  Now  tell  me  all. 

ABUSMAK.  I  have  not  yet  spoken  to  the  king,  thy 
father.  I  thought  it  well  to  let  his  anger  cool,  which 
burned  so  hot  against  Ahikar. 

ZUMURAL.  Alas !  I  mourn  for  good  Ahikar.  And 
thou  hast  lost  a  friend. 

ABUSMAK.     And  gained  an  enemy.     Nadan  is  coun- 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          113 

selor  now.  Flattery  hath  gained  for  him  the  king's  ear, 
and  he  doth  work  against  me.  He  doth  ever  counsel 
peace  to  misprise  my  office.  Therefore  do  I  wait  for  a 
favorable  hour  to  plead  my  cause. 

ZUMURAL.  O  Abusmak,  what  hath  fate  in  store  for  us? 

ABUSMAK.  Who  knoweth  what  the  future  hath  of 
good  or  evil?  Who  is  there  that  can  grasp  the  will  of 
the  immortal  gods?  But  time  breaketh  all  seals.  To 
morrow  may  be  big  with  portent. 

ZUMURAL.     And  why  tomorrow? 

ABUSMAK.  A  messenger  from  Egypt  hath  come  to 
Nineveh.  Tomorrow  he  will  appear  before  the  king. 
Tomorrow  we  shall  know  if  it  be  peace  or  war  with 
Egypt. 

ZUMURAL.     How  can  peace  or  war  touch  our  desires  ? 

ABUSMAK.  If  it  be  war,  I  will  bide  my  time,  until 
the  day  of  battle.  Then  will  I  ask  the  King  for  thee,  for 
in  the  day  of  battle  I  shall  be  greater  than  the  King. 

ZUMURAL.  Oh,  may  the  Egyptians  come,  if  thou  be 
not  hurt. 

ABUSMAK.  A  captain  is  not  great,  except  in  war. 
Then  all  look  to  him  for  safety,  king  and  slave  alike. 

ZUMURAL.  I  would  I  were  a  slave!  Then  thou 
couldst  take  me. 

ABUSMAK.  Wert  thou  a  slave,  I  would  take  thee  as 
mine  own,  and  thou  shouldst  be  the  master — I  the  slave. 

ZUMURAL.     O  dear  Abusmak! 

ABUSMAK.  If  all  else  fail,  there  is  still  one  path  that 
we  may  take  together. 

ZUMURAL.     Whither  doth  it  lead,  Abusmak? 

ABUSMAK.  It  leadeth  from  the  court,  far  from 
Nineveh. 

ZUMURAL.     I  will  take  that  path  with  thee. 

ABUSMAK.  Consider  well.  Thou  art  a  king's  daugh 
ter.  Thou  hast  soft  raiment  and  dainty  viands.  Thou 
art  perfumed  with  sweet  storax  and  galbanum.  But 
endive  and  gall  are  not  more  bitter  than  poverty. 

ZUMURAL.     I  have  no  fear  of  the  future. 


ii4  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

ABUSMAK.  The  good  things  of  earth  are  for  those 
who  live  in  kings'  houses.  The  lot  of  the  exile  is  hard. 

ZUMURAL.  I  can  meet  hardships  and  trials,  and  find 
joy  in  sharing  them  with  thee.  Separation  I  cannot 
endure. 

ABUSMAK.  O  Zumural,  thy  voice  and  thy  beauty,  like 
unmixed  wine,  overmaster  me.  My  blood  runs  riot,  and 
I  must  leave  thee,  ere  I  forget  all  else;  and  I  must  speak 
with  the  captains  yet  tonight.  [Both  rise  and  move 
toward  right:] 

ZUMURAL.     Farewell,  good  Abusmak. 

ABUSMAK.  Farewell,  sweet  Zumural.  The  gods  keep 
thee.  [He  kisses  her  hands,  and  then  kisses  her  fore 
head.  Then  he  goes  off,  right  She  stands  a  moment, 
looking  after  him,  and  then  returns  to  the  seat,  and  sits. 
MENAR-SULA  comes  in,  timidly,  from  left.  ZUMURAL 
sees  her,  and  rises.  MENAR-SULA  halts,  as  though  doubt 
ful  of  her  course.] 

ZUMURAL.  [Reprovingly.]  Dost  thou  venture  to 
come  into  the  king's  gardens? 

MENAR-SULA.  [Running  to  ZUMURAL,  and  kneeling 
before  her.  ]  O  princess  Zumural,  pardon  !  Pardon  thy 
handmaiden  for  coming  here.  But  I  am  in  distress. 

ZUMURAL.  Art  thou  not  Menar-Sula,  the  Arabian 
dancing  girl? 

MENAR-SULA.  I  am,  O  princess,  and  the  unhappiest 
slave  in  Nineveh. 

ZUMURAL.  [Kindly.]  Rise,  Menar-Sula,  and  tell  me 
all.  I  will  be  kind  to  thee. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Rising.]  O  princess,  the  gods  be 
kind  to  thee.  I  am  a  slave,  and  I  wish  to  be  free.  The 
hope  hath  come  to  me  that  thou  mightest  help  me,  if 
I  could  plead  with  thee,  and  tell  thee  my  unhappy  state. 

ZUMURAL.  Why  art  thou  unhappy?  Thou  are  fed 
and  clothed.  Thou  hast  no  cares.  If  thou  wert  free, 
how  wouldst  thou  get  bread,  in  a  land  where  thou  art 
strange  ? 


THE   WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          115 

MENAR-SULA.  [Confidently.]  I  should  be  well  cared 
for,  were  I  but  free. 

ZUMURAL.  Foolish  girl!  Thou  knowest  naught  of 
this  great  city  of  wickedness  and  lies.  Thou  wouldst  be 
as  a  bird  before  the  fowler.  Now  thou  art  as  a  bird  hid 
in  the  cedar. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Eagerly.]  O  princess,  hear  me 
further.  A  youth  of  thy  nation  loveth  me,  and  will  take 
me  as  his  wife,  when  I  am  free. 

ZUMURAL.  A  youth  of  Nineveh  loveth  thee?  [ZU 
MURAL  resumes  her  seat.} 

MENAR-SULA.     Yea,  princess. 

ZUMURAL.     [Gently.}     And  dost  thou  love  him? 

MENAR-SULA.  More  than  all  else  in  life.  To  honor 
him  I  would  I  were  a  princess. 

ZUMURAL.  [Thoughtfully.}  And  if  thou  wert  a  prin 
cess,  and  he  low  born,  wouldst  give  up  all  to  share  his  lot  ? 

MENAR-SULA.  Gladly,  princess.  Dost  thou  not  un 
derstand  ? 

ZUMURAL.  I  understand.  Princess  and  slave  are  one 
at  heart,  and  both  are  slaves  to  passion. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Pleading.}  O  princess,  wilt  thou 
help  me? 

ZUMURAL.  But,  Menar-Sula,  dost  thou  not  know  a 
man  may  wed  a  slave,  if  he  so  desire? 

MENAR-SULA.     He  is  of  exalted  rank. 

ZUMURAL.     Of  exalted  rank?     What  is  his  station? 

MENAR-SULA.  [Proudly.}  He  is  great.  None 
standeth  higher.  He  doth  serve  the  king. 

ZUMURAL.  Who  is  this  youth?  Tell  me,  Menar-Sula. 
I  will  keep  thy  secret. 

MENAR-SULA.     He  is  Nadan,  the  king's  counselor. 

ZUMURAL.  [Rising  in  surprise.]  Nadan!  Hath 
Nadan  promised  to  take  thee  as  his  wife? 

MENAR-SULA.     He  hath  said  it,  he  hath  promised. 

ZUMURAL.  [To  herself.]  How  doth  the  heart  lend 
the  mind  hope!  [Pause.]  But  I  will  help  thee.  I  will 


n6  SIX  SHORT  PLAYS 

plead  for  thee  before  the  king,  tomorrow.  His  words 
will  set  thee  free. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Clasping  her  hands  in  emotion.]  To 
be  free — free,  tomorrow!  Oh!  princess! 

ZUMURAL.  [Sympathetically.]  Good  Menar-Sula, 
thou  shalt  hear  the  words  that  make  thee  free.  Thou 
mayest  stand  close  by  the  door,  and  hear  me  plead,  and 
hear  the  king  consent.  Tomorrow  thou  art  free. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Kneels  and  kisses  ZUMURAI/S  hands.] 
O  gracious  princess,  after  I  am  free,  love  still  enslaveth 
me,  else  would  I  be  thy  slave.  The  gods  make  thee 
happy,  as  they  have  made  thee  beautiful.  The  gods  give 
thee  all  thy  heart's  desire.  [THE  CURTAIN  FALLS.] 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          117 


SCENE  2.  The  next  morning.  Scene  and  characters  the 
same  as  in  Act  I,  Scene  2,  but  the  persons  on  the 
king's  right  are  in  this  order:  NADAN,  ZUMURAL, 
ABUSMAK,  SERABA. 

THE  KING.  Speak,  Nadan,  my  counselor,  what  busi 
ness  waiteth  for  us? 

NADAN.  My  lord  and  king,  a  courier  hath  come  from 
Egypt,  bearing  a  message  from  the  Egyptian  king,  and 
he  will  soon  stand  before  thee. 

THE  KING.  It  is  well.  We  shall  weigh  the  message, 
before  we  give  reply.  Dost  thou  know  aught  thereof? 

NADAN.     I  know  not,  my  king,  if  it  mean  peace  or  war. 

THE  KING.     What  tidings  from  Babylon,  Abusmak? 

ABUSMAK.  The  rebellious  princes  still  defy  thine  au 
thority,  and  now  seek  to  incite  the  Arabians  against  us. 
Last  night  we  started  out  a  mighty  force  for  Babylon, 
under  a  strong  leader.  We  shall  soon  scatter  the  rebels. 

THE  KING.  Why  are  the  warlike  tribes  of  Media 
stirred  ? 

ABUSMAK.  They  meditate  no  evil  against  us.  Their 
strife  is  elsewhere. 

NADAN.  Beloved  of  Assur,  the  omens  are  uncertain, 
and  the  heavens  are  troubled.  The  moon,  at  setting,  had 
the  color  of  a  dust  cloud,  filling  the  crescent.  It  is  an 
evil  sign.  Make  peace  with  thine  enemies,  O  king. 

ABUSMAK.  Shall  we  fear  the  Arabian  dogs,  or  the 
black-headed  people  of  the  Euphrates?  Is  not  Assyria 
great?  Is  not  our  lord  most  powerful?  We  shall  crush 
the  rebels  like  straws,  and  strike  them  with  the  plagues 
of  the  four  elements. 

THE  KING.  Why  do  our  people  hide  in  their  houses, 
and  why  do  caravans,  by  night  and  day,  leave  the  Royal 
City? 

ABUSMAK.  Some  are  afraid,  O  king,  and  Atykar's 
fate  hath  saddened  them. 


ii8  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

SERABA.  He  was  a  father  to  them  all.  They  trusted 
in  his  wisdom.  Now  they  know  it  is  gone. 

THE  KING.  Peace,  Seraba.  The  life  of  day  before 
yesterday  hath  departed  today. 

NADAN.  Let  men  be  told  that  I  have  Ahikar's  wisdom. 
[Sound  of  a  trumpet,  right.] 

NADAN.  O  king,  the  messenger  from  Egypt  cometh 
now.  [Pause.  Enter  MESSENGER.  He  advances  to 
THE  KING,  and  makes  profound  obeisance,  bending  low 
his  body,  and  extending  hands,  palms  downward.] 

THE  MESSENGER.  Seven  times  and  seven  times  do  I, 
the  royal  messenger,  bow  before  the  king  of  Assyria. 

KING.  Speak,  O  royal  messenger,  I  incline  mine  ear 
to  hear  thee. 

THE  MESSENGER.  [Taking  scroll  from  his  girdle, 
reads.]  Shabaka,  Pharaoh  of  Egypt,  King  of  Ethiopia, 
lord  of  the  Nile,  beloved  of  Osiris  and  Isis,  to  Sennach 
erib,  King  of  Assyria,  greeting.  Health  to  your  lordship 
and  kingship.  Be  it  known  to  thee  that  I  will  build  a 
great  palace,  reaching  from  earth  to  heaven.  Thou  shalt 
send  me  the  wisest  man  in  Assyria  to  direct  the  building 
thereof.  No  one  may  direct  this  work,  save  only  he 
who  can  interpret  the  oracle  of  Osiris,  and  no  one  in 
Egypt  can  do  this.  Send  me  such  a  man,  and  to  him 
will  I  give  great  honor  and  much  treasure,  and  I  will 
be  thy  friend.  If  thou  fail,  I  shall  destroy  thy  country, 
and  take  thy  throne. 

THE  KING.  What  is  this  saying  that  the  wisdom  of 
Egypt  cannot  solve? 

THE  MESSENGER.  This  is  the  saying:  [Reads.] 
Behold,  a  great  pillar.  On  the  pillar  are  twelve  cedars. 
On  each  cedar  are  thirty  wheels.  On  each  wheel  are  two 
couriers,  one  white  and  one  black,  and  the  whole  is  the 
most  precious  thing  in  life. 

THE  KING.  Messenger  of  King  Shabaka,  thou  art 
welcome  to  the  Royal  City.  Come  before  me  in  three 
days,  and  get  thine  answer.  Meanwhile  thou  shalt  be 
well  fed  and  sheltered.  Thou  mayest  go.  Nadan,  re- 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          119 

ceive-  the  message.  [NADAN  takes  the  scroll,  and  THE 
MESSENGER  retires,  right,  keeping  his  face  toward  THE 
KING.] 

THE  KING.  Ye  have  heard  the  message  from  Egypt. 
How  doth  it  move  you? 

NADAN.  We  have  many  enemies,  O  king.  The  great 
ness  of  thy  glory  doth  provoke  them.  We  should  make 
peace  with  the  Egyptians,  for  they  bear  cruel  weapons, 
without  fear  of  the  fight. 

ABUSMAK.  If  they  see  us  tremble,  they  will  think  us 
slaves.  Thou  hast,  O  king,  ever  triumphed  over  thy  foes. 
Hast  thou  not  scattered  the  Elamites?  Hast  thou  not 
shut  up  King  Hezekiah  of  Judah,  like  a  bird  in  a  cage? 
Our  people  are  strong  and  well  fed,  and  thy  splendor 
covereth  the  land  like  a  garment. 

THE  KING.     Yea,  it  is  even  so. 

ABUSMAK.  Though  we  fear  not  Egypt's  threat,  it  will 
be  well  to  send  the  Egyptian  king  the  meaning  of  the 
saying.  He  shall  fear  our  wisdom,  as  he  feareth  our 
armies. 

THE  KING.     But  who  can  solve  this  riddle? 

ABUSMAK.  Let  Nadan,  the  counselor,  answer.  Hath 
he  not  Ahikar's  wisdom? 

NADAN.  Great  king,  the  gods  themselves  cannot  give 
answer  to  the  saying.  It  is  but  folly.  Twelve  cedars 
cannot  stand  on  a  pillar.  The  Egyptian  king  doth  mock  us. 

SERABA.  O  king,  thou  needest  now,  indeed,  the  wis 
dom  of  Ahikar. 

THE  KING.  [Anxiously.]  If  the  Egyptians  join  our 
foes,  how  can  we  meet  so  great  a  multitude?  We  must 
have  peace  with  Egypt.  But  who  can  expound  the  saying? 

ABUSMAK.  O  king,  there  is  an  aged  soothsayer  in  my 
house,  who  sought  shelter  with  me.  He  hath  the  wisdom 
of  the  east  and  west.  The  gods  have  favored  him,  and 
taught  him  to  interpret  dreams  and  omens.  Never  have 
I  listened  to  a  wiser  man.  Command  that  he  come  before 
thee,  that  he  may  expound  this  saying. 


120  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

THE  KING.  Go,  Abusmak.  Bring  this  soothsayer 
before  me. 

[ABUSMAK  goes  out  right,  keeping  his  face  to  THE 
KING.] 

NADAN.  No  seer  can  make  fitting  answer  to  the  saying. 
It  is  but  a  deceit  to  trouble  us. 

THE  KING.  The  key  that  shall  unlock  its  meaning  will 
open  a  door  for  peace  with  Egypt. 

ZUMURAL.  O  king,  my  lord  and  father,  hear  me.  I 
seek  a  boon  of  thee.  Make  Menar-Sula  free.  She  is 
the  Arabian  dancing  girl,  and  she  doth  please  me  much. 
I  would  have  her  with  me.  [MENAR-SULA'S  face  is  seen 
at  curtained  door,  rear.] 

THE  KING.     I  will  command  that  she  attend  thee. 

ZUMURAL.  Not  as  a  slave,  my  father.  Let  her  be 
free  to  choose. 

NADAN.  O  king,  hear  thy  counselor.  I  have  devised 
a  plan  to  gain  the  friendship  of  the  Egyptians.  Let  us 
send  gold  and  ivory  to  their  king,  and  let  us  send  the 
Arabian  dancing  girl  to  please  his  eye.  Therefore,  do 
not  set  her  free,  but  send  her  as  a  present  to  the  Egyptian 
king. 

ZUMURAL.  [Pleading.]  Oh,  send  her  not  to  Egypt. 
Make  her  free. 

NADAN.  If  freed,  she  would  return  at  once  to  her 
native  land.  The  Arabian  king  would  think  thou  didst 
despise  his  gift,  and  his  anger  would  be  stirred  against  us. 
[MENAR-SULA  disappears.] 

THE  KING.  I  fain  would  please  thee,  daughter.  I  will 
ponder  this,  and  give  answer  at  another  time.  No  more 
today.  Abusmak  cometh  now,  leading  the  aged  seer,  and 
he  now  hath  our  thought.  [Enter  ABUSMAK  and  THE 
SOOTHSAYER.  The  latter,  covered  by  a  cloak  from  head 
to  foot,  kneels  before  THE  KING.] 

THE  SOOTHSAYER.  O  mighty  king,  I  bow  before  thee. 
May  health  of  body  and  joy  of  heart  be  thy  daily  portion. 

THE  KING.  Rise,  O  seer,  and  know  why  I  have  sent 
for  thee.  Canst  thou  explain  oracles? 


THE  WISE  MAN   OF  NINEVEH          121 

THE  SOOTHSAYER.  [Rises.]  With  the  help  of  the 
gods,  O  king. 

THE  KING.  The  gods  lend  thee  aid.  If  thou  canst 
rightly  interpret  this  saying,  thou  mayest  ask  anything 
of  me,  and  I  will  give  it.  Do  thou,  O  Nadan,  read  the 
saying. 

NADAN.  [Reading,]  Behold,  a  great  pillar.  On  the 
pillar  are  twelve  cedars.  On  each  cedar  are  thirty  wheels. 
On  each  wheel  are  two  couriers,  one  white  and  one  black, 
and  the  whole  is  the  most  precious  thing  in  life. 

THE  SOOTHSAYER.  [Puts  both  hands  to  his  headt  and 
stands  a  moment  in  thought.]  The  meaning  is  plain,  O 
king.  The  pillar  is  the  year.  The  twelve  cedars  are  the 
months  of  the  year.  The  thirty  wheels  are  the  days  of 
the  month.  The  couriers,  one  white  and  one  black,  are 
dawn  and  nightfall,  and  time  is  the  most  precious  thing 
in  life. 

THE  KING.  [In  wonder  and  admiration.]  Oh,  thou 
art  wondrous  wise! 

NADAN.     He  hath  the  wisdom  of  the  gods! 

THE  KING.  Thou  art  mighty  in  wisdom.  This  is, 
indeed,  the  truth.  I  have  known  none  so  wise  as  thou. 
I  would  have  thy  counsel  ever  as  a  guide.  Thou  art  even 
wiser  than  Ahikar. 

THE  SOOTHSAYER.  [Throwing  off  his  cloak,  reveals 
himself  as  AHIKAR.]  Behold,  O  king,  I  am  Ahikar! 
[All  but  ABUSMAK  and  SERABA  start  in  amazement.] 

THE  KING.  [Shrinking  back  in  fear.]  Ahikar!  Hast 
thou  come  back  from  the  gloom  and  dust  of  the  under 
world  ? 

ABUSMAK.  O  king,  let  me  speak.  As  I  led  Ahikar 
forth,  ten  days  ago,  we  passed  great  Assur's  temple.  A 
cloud  of  smoke  came  from  the  altar,  and  from  the  smoke 
a  voice,  saying :  "Slay  not  Ahikar,  the  Wise."  Dismayed, 
I  cried:  "How  can  I  serve  the  King,  and  reverence  the 
gods?"  Again  the  voice:  "Spare  wise  Ahikar  yet  ten 
days,  for  then  the  King  shall  sorely  need  his  wisdom." 


122  SIX   SHORT  PLAYS 

And  so  I  hid  him  in  my  house,  and  good  Seraba  brought 
him  bread  and  wine — 

NADAN.  [Triumphantly.]  Now  thou  knowest,  O 
king,  that  Abusmak  hath  not  been  faithful  to  thee. 

THE  KING.     Nadan,  be  still.     I  will  hear  all. 

ABUSMAK.  And  now  the  prophecy  hath  come  to  pass. 
Pardon  thy  servants  who  have  done  this  thing. 

THE  KING.  The  gods  are  mightier  than  the  king. 
Yet  how  did  witnesses  bring  me  word  thereof? 

ABUSMAK.  By  drinking  unmixed  wine,  their  brains 
were  fuddled,  and  their  senses  dulled.  A  slave  con- 
demed  to  death  for  shedding  blood,  they  saw,  and  took 
him  for  Ahikar. 

THE  KING.  All  are  pardoned  who  have  known  of  this. 
And,  good  father  Ahikar,  pardon  me,  thy  king,  for  I  have 
listened  to  evil  report  against  thee.  He  who  hath 
wronged  thee,  by  false  words,  shall  die. 

MENAR-SULA.  [Rushing  in  right,  speaks  excitedly.] 
Thou  shalt  know  the  truth,  O  King!  The  message  that 
I  brought  I  found  not  in  the  way.  No  horseman  dropped 
it.  [NADAN  goes  quickly  out,  left.] 

THE  KING.  [Sternly.]  Why  hast  thou  deceived  the 
king? 

MENAR-SULA.     I  did  it  for  Nadan. 

THE  KING.     For  Nadan! 

MENAR-SULA.  Yea,  he  put  the  message  in  my  hand. 
He  put  the  words  in  my  mouth.  [Desperately.]  Kill 
me  if  thou  wilt!  I  care  not! 

ZUMURAL.  [Pityingly.]  Menar-Sula!  O  king,  my 
father,  pardon  her.  She  hath  made  amends. 

THE  KING.  Go,  girl,  in  safety.  [She  runs  out  left.] 
Let  Nadan  stand  before  me.  Where  is  Nadan? 

ABUSMAK.     He  hath  gone  from  sight,  my  lord. 

THE  KING.  He  cannot  escape.  Hear  ye  all:  Ahikar 
is  counselor  again.  Let  heralds  proclaim  in  all  the  streets 
that  Ahikar  liveth,  and  hath  greater  honor  than  before. 
And  now,  noble  father  Ahikar,  ask  what  thou  wilt.  It 
shall  be  given  thee,  according  to  my  word. 


THE  WISE   MAN   OF   NINEVEH          123 

AHIKAR.  For  myself  I  ask  naught,  O  king.  But  for 
Abusmak,  son  of  my  comrade,  I  ask  this,  give  him  the 
princess  Zumural  to  wife. 

ABUSMAK.     O  blessed  father  Ahikar ! 

THE  KING.  It  shall  be  so.  The  thread  of  wool  shall 
bind  her  hand  to  his,  while  great  Ishtar  is  invoked  to  bless 
the  union.  [ABUSMAK  takes  ZUMURAL' s  hand,  and  puts 
his  arm  around  her.]  Abusmak  is  brave  and  virtuous. 
He  shall  bear  my  signet,  and  all  shall  bow  before  him. 
Only  on  the  throne  shall  I  be  greater. 

AN  ATTENDANT.  [Rushes  in,  left,  and  prostrates  him 
self  before  THE  KING.]  Lo,  I  am  the  footstool  at  the 
feet  of  my  king. 

THE  KING.     Rise  and  speak. 

ATTENDANT.  [Rising.]  Nadan  lies  at  the  palace  gate, 
a  girdle  dagger  in  his  heart. 

Zu  MURAL.     M  enar-  Sula ! 

ABUSMAK.  He  durst  not  stand  in  the  flame  of  thy 
wrath,  O  king.  He  hath  slain  himself. 

THE  KING.     It  is  better  so. 

AHIKAR.  He  who  diggeth  a  pit  shall  fall  therein. 
Out  of  evil  cometh  evil,  and  a  troubled  heart. 

THE  KING.  O  wise  Ahikar,  how  can  man  find  the 
good,  and  be  at  peace? 

AHIKAR.  While  man  striveth,  let  him  ever  know  that 
the  best  gifts  come  from  a  higher  power.  Therefore,  let 
him  eat  his  bread  and  salt  in  gratitude,  and  be  content. 


[THE  CURTAIN  FALLS.] 


UNIVERSITY    OF    CALIFORNIA 
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